


A Quiet Life

by cindale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2006-02-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindale/pseuds/cindale
Summary: Neville Longbottom enjoys his quiet life with his herbology research and a few good friends. He really doesn





	1. Ch 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Author’s notes: Thanks SO MUCH to swishandflick for agreeing to beta read this story for me, despite me ruining his ship, and for doing the first chapter during his insanely busy class. Thanks also VERY muchly to gianfar for beta reading this chapter despite a seriously busy weekend involving anniversaries and horrible neighbors.

This story contains spoilers for one of my other stories, "A Cord of Three Strands", but not for "Half-Blood Prince". When I made my outline for ACOTS, I fully intended for my ending pairings to live happily ever after, but several different versions of this story started banging around in my mind over a year ago, and I finally decided to write this one during NaNoWriMo in November 2004. I set it in the same universe as ACOTS mainly for convenience - it's not really intended to be a sequel, per se.

*****************************************

“To what do I owe this rude interruption?” growled Professor Severus Snape as he leaned over to glare into his fireplace.

Neville Longbottom resisted rolling his eyes at the man who had intimidated him so much when he was in school and forced his expression to be serious. He knew the Potions Master would not respond positively to any reminder that he was no longer Neville’s greatest fear. “I wondered if you had heard from Remus today – how the Wolfsbane Potion worked.”

“Impatient boy – you could have waited until my classes were finished before pestering me.” Neville had to struggle even harder to keep a straight face. At twenty-three, he was hardly a boy, though he could sometimes be accused of being impatient. “If you must know now, Lupin contacted me earlier to say that he’s feeling only slightly tired, and plans to take his wife to that infernal party tonight.”

“That’s excellent!” said Neville, momentarily forgetting his resolve to act solemn. “So the new aconite appears to be calming his transformations?”

“Only time will tell whether your new form of aconite will benefit or kill a werewolf, but the early results do appear to be promising.” Snape grimaced as if he hated to encourage Neville in the least, but Neville was very pleased by the backhanded complement, which was very high praise indeed coming from the Potions Master.

“When you were in school,” Snape continued, “I would have never believed you could develop something so potentially useful. At times, I am tempted to suspect you might not be the same person.”

Neville fought to keep his expression neutral, reminding himself that there was no way Snape could know what else he had been experimenting with. The time would come when he would need the help of the Potions Master, but he wasn’t ready to share his secret quite yet.

“I was always good in Herbology,” said Neville with a shrug, which was difficult to accomplish in the Floo.

“Well, now you know Lupin is fine, so leave me in peace! I have a class in twenty minutes!”

“Thank you Professor,” Neville called after Snape as the perpetually grumpy man turned and walked away.

“Who were you talking to?” Rose asked. Rose Zeller had apprenticed under a Master Herbologist for a year, as he had, and then had come to work as his assistant at the Ministry-sponsored Research Centre.

Neville stood and dusted his trousers with his hands. “Snape,” he said, his lips threatening to curl into a grin.

“I can’t believe you work with him,” said Rose. “I was so scared of him in school.”

“I was too,” said Neville, remembering his boggart from third year with a grimace. “He’s not so bad, really.”

“Is he going to the ball?”

“Snape hates parties,” Neville said with a laugh, “but I’m sure he’ll be there. He worked too closely with the new Minister during the war to ignore the invitation.”

“I wish I were going,” Rose said with a heavy sigh, turning back to her pruning.

Neville picked up his own shears and began pruning the plants on the other side of the table, watching the woman covertly as he snipped. Rose was a joy to work with, brilliant and eager to learn, but she seemed to hold a strange fascination for those who had fought in the war, including him. He often wondered if her apparent admiration for him was a result of his brilliance in his chosen field or the fact that the wizarding world considered him a “war hero.”

Neville suppressed a sigh as Rose’s pruning slowed in direct proportion to the growing dreaminess in her eyes. He had an invitation to the ball, of course, but no date. It would obviously make her happy to go and rub elbows with the “crème de la crème” of wizarding society.

“Do you want to go?”

Rose snapped out of her faraway gaze and shrugged, her pruning accelerating. “Sure, doesn’t everyone?”

“No,” said Neville, swallowing. It wasn’t a real date; why was he so nervous? “I mean, I don’t have a date – do you want to go with me?”

“Are you serious?” she practically screamed, dropping the shears.

“Well – sure – you can just walk in with me – you don’t have to stay with me.”

“But will you introduce me to some of your friends?”

“Well – sure if you want…”

“Oh, Neville! I’ll get to meet the new Minister and Harry Potter and Ron and Hermione Weasley and Dean Thomas and Draco Malfoy… What will I wear?” The words flew from her lips so fast that Neville didn’t even catch all the names she listed.

“Just wear dress robes.” He set his shears down carefully and walked around the table to join her. “Look,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, “it’s really no big deal. I just got an invitation because I used to room with the new Minister’s son. I’ll get you in the door and then you can meet anyone you want.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her eyes wide with admiration. He hated when people looked at him that way, as if he had done something worthy of respect. “You’ll always be invited to these things because you’re one of the ‘Gryffindor Three’.”

There it was, the title that he hated, possibly more than anything else. It was the title that reminded him that not all of the “Three” survived. He didn’t deserve the title of a war hero. He had thought he would get used to it over time, but had found that he still cringed when he heard it just as he had the first time, almost six years before.

Neville took a deep breath to prevent himself from shouting at Rose, and then said, “Please don’t use that title. The ‘three’ are only ‘two’ and there are many others who fought in that battle.” Rose’s eyes widened and filled with tears which only frustrated Neville further; he had tried to keep his tone gentle, but it had to be said. He took another deep breath and returned to his side of the table. “Write down your address for me, and I’ll pick you up at half seven, okay?”

When he looked up again, she was giving him a trembling smile, and he suppressed a sigh of relief. He hated it when women cried.

******************************

Neville Apparated directly into his bedroom, feeling the anti-Apparation wards open and close around him as if he were sliding through a short, narrow tube. Harry had developed this particular ward and he and Ron had installed it for him. It was keyed to only allow Apparation in by Neville, though anyone could Apparate out. Harry and Ron were certainly good at what they did; Neville had never had any problem with the wards in the four years he had lived in his flat. It was good to have friends who were Aurors.

Without any hesitation, he walked directly to the plants in the corner of the room and picked up the watering can that was charmed to always be full. “How have you been today?” he said to the closest, largest plant, stroking a leaf fondly. “You’re looking well. Would you like a drink?” He poured just the right amount of water into the pot and moved on to the next one.

Neville talked to each plant in turn, touching them gently and watering them. An outside observer would have probably thought him daft, but he truly didn’t care. He loved each and every one of his plants, and sometimes he wondered why it was acceptable to talk and coo at an animal but not a plant.

When he had finished with the plants, he washed his hands carefully in the bathroom, and then rummaged in his wardrobe for his dress robes. He eyed the robes critically; they were clean, but a bit rumpled. Neville had never quite gotten the hang of ironing charms, so he carried the robes into the bathroom and charmed them to hover in the air while he showered, hoping the wrinkles would fall out when confronted with the steam.

As he washed away the day’s soil and sweat, his mind wandered to his closest friend. Dean had refused to tell him who he was taking to the ball, saying he wanted to surprise him. It must be someone he knew, or Dean would have simply said that he didn’t know her.

A little smile played on his lips as it often did when he considered the irony of their friendship. It didn’t seem possible for two people to be more different. Dean Thomas was tall, thin, and dark while Neville was short, stocky, and pale. Dean had managed to kill every plant Neville had given him and was completely baffled by Neville’s research. Dean was very successful in his career as an art designer with a wizard advertising firm, while Neville could hardly draw a stick figure. Dean was smooth with the ladies and flirted with almost every one he met, while Neville tended to be awkward around woman and shied away from situations where he might be forced to talk to them. Dean was Muggle-born, and had never even heard of the wizarding world until he had received his Hogwarts letter; Neville’s parents were both wizards and he had grown up without any knowledge of Muggle technology.

Despite their differences, the two men had a bond that was forged through seven years of rooming together in school and the loss of their close friend, Seamus Finnigan. True, Seamus’s death had been harder on Dean, as he had been closest to him, but both Neville and Dean had fought with him in that terrible final battle, and both had been by his side when he had fallen.

Another thing Neville and Dean had in common was their disgust with the label of “war hero.” Neville, Dean, and Seamus had been dubbed the “Gryffindor Three” because someone had snapped a photograph of them leading the students into the Battle of Hogwarts with their wands drawn. The photograph had appeared in the Daily Prophet the next day and had circulated to almost every major wizarding newspaper around the world, becoming an icon of the final battle, and making the three famous. Neville didn’t think he would ever become reconciled to his celebrity, and he knew Dean felt the same.

Really, the similarities Neville and Dean shared were more important and went much deeper than their differences. Dean was the only one who knew about Neville’s greatest fear, and Dean had told Neville once that he was the only one who understood his grief about Seamus. They both still had occasional nightmares about the war, and they were both grateful to have each other to confide in, since talking about the dreams sometimes seemed to hold them at bay for a time.

Neville turned off the water, towelled himself dry, and inspected his dress robes. Maybe Rose could do a quick ironing charm when he arrived at her flat. He walked into his bedroom, still towelling his hair, and his eyes fell on the picture of his parents on his nightstand, reminding him that he needed to drink his tea before the ball. He dressed quickly in the simple black slacks and white shirt he would wear under his robes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

As he waited for the kettle to steam, he talked gently to one of the plants he had crossbred himself before gently clipping a sprig and putting it into his cup. He added tea, boiling water, and a little honey to sate his hunger; he didn’t want to eat dinner before the ball since he knew he would snack on hors d'oeuvres while he was there. He sipped the steaming liquid slowly, leaning against the counter and letting his mind wander from the herb in his tea to the new breed of aconite he had developed. He was suddenly eager to talk to Remus about his transformation, and resolved to seek him out as soon as he could.

The telephone rang, startling him out of his reverie and causing him to slosh a little tea on his white shirt. He wandered around the flat, trying to follow the sound of the ring, wondering where he had left the infernal thing this time. At least with a Floo call there was never any doubt about where to answer it. Why on earth had he let Dean and Harry talk him into getting the blasted thing?

He finally found the telephone in his study on the computer desk and stabbed at the buttons. “This is Neville,” he said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“Wotcher, mate,” said Dean’s voice. “So, did you manage a last minute date?”

“Actually, I’m taking Rose Zeller from work.”

“Really? You’ve never mentioned her before. Is she cute?”

Neville considered that. She had been working with him for a couple of months now, but he hadn’t really considered her looks. She was very enthusiastic about their work and a very competent Herbologist, and that’s what he valued most in a co-worker. He realized he was still thinking of her as a co-worker, despite the fact that they were going on a date, even though it wasn’t a real date.

Was she cute? Rose had blonde hair that she always wore in a bun or ponytail of some sort, presumably to keep it out of her face. Neville supposed she had a nice face, attractive now that he thought about it, but it really wasn’t appropriate for him to think of her in that fashion as long as he was her supervisor.

“I guess so. It’s not really a date – I just asked her because it was obvious she wanted to go. Watch out – I know she wants to meet all the ‘war heroes’.” Neville could clearly picture the grimace that was surely on his friend’s face.

“Speaking of,” said Dean, “that’s why I called. I heard they’re having us parade in front of the press as we arrive, like at the bloody Oscars in the States. Be sure to bring your best smile.”

“Oh, Merlin, are you serious?” Neville groused, disgusted. “Can’t we Apparate directly in?”

“Nah – security you know. It’ll be okay. I’m sure they’ll have wards up to keep the photographers from actually touching us. And besides, I think my date will enjoy it.”

“Who are you bringing, anyway?” Neville asked for at least the twentieth time, trying to remember who he had been talking about most frequently lately.

“You’ll see,” said Dean with a laugh. “I’d better ring off – I’ve got to pick her up soon. See you there.”

Neville punched the button to end the call, absently setting the telephone down by the computer again, completely forgetting his frustration at not being able to find it before. He glanced at the clock and realized he had to pick up Rose soon.

He drank his tea as he finished dressing, thinking about the evening ahead. He wished he could be like Rose, an outsider, relatively untouched by the war and never considered a “hero.” He realized, however, that like Dean’s mysterious date, Rose would probably thoroughly enjoy their arrival.

******************************

The Ministry building had been rebuilt as soon as the war was over, financed by assets seized from the Death Eaters. They had opted to build above the ground instead of below, and the result was bigger and much more opulent than before. The ten-story brick building featured stone gargoyles across the summit whose faces seemed to resemble past Ministers of Magic. The two-story high entrance was recessed behind eight white marble columns. Neville had been told that Muggles saw an ordinary office building instead, and that it was charmed to repel curiosity and salesmen.

A narrow burgundy carpet had been laid which started at the entrance, extended down the black marble staircase, and continued to a point in the middle of the street. The pathway created by the carpet was lined by torches hovering in the air just higher than a man’s head. It would have been a beautiful scene if not for the crush of reporters lining the path.

The street had been blocked (Neville thought he saw a sign declaring a gas leak) to allow guests to Apparate just beyond the end of the carpet and parade down the path for maximum exposure to the journalists. Neville found himself idly wondering if he could covertly charm the torches to float a few feet lower, just enough to scare the reporters away, not to burn them, of course. Thankfully, the media representatives were confined behind an invisible barrier which lined the carpet, but it didn’t prevent clouds of photographic purple smoke from drifting over the pathway.

He was right about Rose’s reaction to their entrance. She beamed as they walked from the Apparation point to the Ministry building as if she were walking to her own coronation. Neville plastered a smile on his face and struggled not to grimace at the idiotic questions that were thrown his way.

“Mr. Longbottom, how did it feel to kick Voldemort’s arse?” asked one reporter. Neville wanted to scream that Harry did that, not him.

“Mr. Longbottom, how did you get to be on a first name basis with the Boy Who Lived?” That reporter just hadn’t done his research.

“Mr. Longbottom, why haven’t you settled down yet? You are seen in the company of Mr. Thomas quite often – are you two a couple?” That was the first time Neville had heard that particular question, and he wasn’t sure whether to be insulted on behalf of Rose or amused by it – he knew Dean would think it was funny, though.

They finally reached the door and Neville hurried inside, pulling Rose along with him. As they waited in the queue to present their invitations to the grumpy-looking doorman, Rose leaned toward him and asked, “You hate that, don’t you? Why?”

Neville sighed, knowing she meant the questions and the attention. “You know, if a reporter would sit down with me calmly and ask me questions about my research, I would be thrilled. It’s ridiculous – I’m working on things that could benefit all of Wizardkind, and all they can ask me about is my love life and something that happened six years ago. How would you feel?”

Rose widened her eyes as if affronted. “I’m sorry,” Neville said quickly in a gentler tone, even though he actually felt impatient, “but can you imagine? I would give almost anything to be a nobody.” She nodded at him, but there was no comprehension in her eyes. Neville suppressed a sigh; she was blinded by the apparent glamour of the fame, and had no concept of what he had paid for it.

Dean hurried up to them as soon as they were admitted, leading a woman with long brown hair…

“Lavender!” Neville exclaimed as she embraced him enthusiastically. He untangled himself from her arms and said, “I thought you were in the States.”

“Came back about three weeks ago, and ran into Dean at the L. C.”

Neville shot Dean a puzzled look and his friend mouthed, “The Leaky Cauldron.”

“He told me all about this big party, and I couldn’t resist the invitation,” Lavender continued. “I’m sure mine got lost on its way overseas. Anyway, can you imagine Arthur Weasley being Minister of Magic? I would have never thought a Weasley…”

“Hey mate,” Dean interrupted, “introduce us to your date.”

Neville made the introductions quickly, suddenly eager to get away from Lavender.

“Zeller,” said Lavender, staring appraisingly at Rose. “Your name sounds familiar.”

“I went to Hogwarts,” said Rose. “Hufflepuff, started in 1995. I know who you are, of course. You fought in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“Yes, I did, I got the Order of Merlin for it!” said Lavender, her expression brightening. She took Rose’s arm. “Come on,” she said, “I’ll introduce you to some of the others. I know them all, of course…”

As the two women walked into the ballroom, Neville wondered why on earth Dean had invited Lavender Brown.

“We had a couple of drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, and inviting her just seemed like the thing to do,” Dean said as if reading Neville’s mind. “God! I forgot how horrible she was.”

“She wasn’t always horrible,” Neville said, his mind drifting to the time they had dated during their sixth year at Hogwarts. She had seemed pleasant at the time, but now that Neville thought about it, she had spent a lot of time pumping him for information about the battle at the Department of Mysteries at the end of his fifth year.

Neville had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized that he and Dean were about to enter the ballroom. “Oi, mate,” he said, stopping suddenly, “we’d best not walk in together.”

“Why?”

“The reporters were just asking me if you and I are a couple. I don’t think we need to add any fuel to that rumour.”

Dean laughed, as Neville had known he would. “I have half a mind to drag you out there for a snog, right in front of all of them.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Neville said screwing up his face in exaggerated disgust. “You certainly only have half a mind.” He hurried into the ballroom before Dean could retaliate.

The ballroom took up the entire ground floor and could be divided to accommodate smaller parties and meetings. It was decorated in burgundy and gold tonight, which made Neville think of Gryffindor. Five crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the largest and most ornate in the centre of the room. Neville had heard that the largest chandelier was actually powered by electricity, a nod to the new Minister’s obsession with Muggle technology, but he doubted the rumour was true.

Neville searched the room with his eyes, seeking Remus and Petunia Lupin. He spotted Rose dancing with Draco Malfoy and cringed.

Harry claimed that Malfoy had helped him defeat Voldemort, and he knew he should be grateful for that, but he still couldn’t get past the way the git had treated him in school. It should have helped that Harry believed in him, had even gone before the Wizengamot to defend him, but even Harry’s endorsement couldn’t make Neville like the abrasive man.

Neville spotted the Lupins across the ballroom and started toward them. As he walked, he noticed Ron and Hermione dancing a little awkwardly due to Hermione’s swollen abdomen, looking into each other’s eyes as if they were the only ones in the room. Neville smiled and wondered if he would ever feel that way about another human being.

As he passed the refreshment table, he spotted Theodore Nott chatting up a woman he didn’t know. Nott was a former schoolmate that Neville preferred to avoid; even Draco Malfoy hated him. His father had escaped prosecution after the war by fleeing the country, but Neville felt that Nott might as well have been a Death Eater, too. Neville was comforted by the fact that his family’s entire fortune had been seized by the Ministry. Theodore, however, had managed to avoid employment by charming women from influential families, most of them much older.

When he reached the spot where the Lupins had been standing, they were gone. Neville looked around, frustrated, and saw that they were dancing. The Lupins were another couple who were very obviously in love. It had always seemed oddly appropriate to Neville that Remus had married Harry’s aunt since he had been like a father to Harry during his most difficult years. As he watched them glide effortlessly across the room, he realized his questions about Remus’s health had been answered; the werewolf was obviously feeling quite well. He could Floo him tomorrow and question him further.

Neville filled a plate at the refreshment table and turned to watch the dancers. He wondered, as he had many times before, how Harry could be so graceful on a broom and so awkward on the dance floor. Ginny didn’t seem to mind, though; she gazed up at him with her eyes full of love. Neville couldn’t help wondering if they would ever marry.

He remembered a time about two years before when Dean had asked Harry why he didn’t marry Ginny. Dean was frustrated because Harry wouldn’t join them in chatting up three women at the pub where they had stopped to get a drink. He told Harry he might as well be married since he was acting like it. Harry had said, “I love Ginny, and I would never do anything to betray her. But I’m not ready to get married. Everyone expects me to marry her, and I’ve spent my entire life doing what everyone else expects. I’m sure I’ll marry her someday, but I’m going to do it on my terms, and in my own timing. Ginny accepts this, and to be honest, it’s really no one else’s business but ours.” Neville supposed if Harry and Ginny were happy with their arrangement, it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought.

“I can’t believe that one of the most eligible bachelors at this ball is not dancing!” exclaimed Lavender right next to him, causing him to jump, and a couple of prawns to fall from his plate. “Come on,” she continued. “Let’s dance, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to over the last couple of years.”

Lavender, however, chatted about New York the entire time they danced. After awhile Neville simply smiled and nodded, and reminded himself never prattle on this much about his research.

“Ooh – there’s Harry and Ginny,” Lavender said, and Neville had to stifle a sigh of relief that she had changed the subject. “Are they ever going to get married? I wonder if they’ll swap – I want to dance with Harry. Let’s ask them.”

She took the lead and danced them over to the couple. “Ginny,” she said when they were within shouting distance, “can I borrow your boyfriend for teeny bit? I want to catch up.”

“Er – sure,” Ginny said, releasing Harry with obvious reluctance. Harry gave Ginny a glance that reminded Neville of a man about to be tortured, and then plastered on a smile as he whirled off with Lavender. Ginny stared after them with an unreadable expression, and Neville wondered if he should … sure, why not?

“Miss Weasley,” he said, “would you like to dance?”

Ginny turned to face him and grinned, obviously amused. “Certainly Mr. Longbottom,” she answered, imitating Neville’s formal tone. “As long as you don’t stand on my feet.”

Neville smiled and took her into his arms, maintaining as much distance between them as possible. “I’m a little better since Hogwarts,” he said with mock dignity, remembering the Yule Ball in his fourth year.

“Don’t worry – I’m used to it. Harry’s a horrible dancer.”

Neville agreed, but he hated to say anything negative to Ginny about her boyfriend. “I guess I should thank you for helping me get away from Lavender,” he said instead, and immediately felt terrible for saying such a thing, but Ginny’s smile grew wider and a little mischievous.

“Anything to help Harry have a good time. Seriously, though,” she said, her expression sobering, “he hates these things.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Neville agreed. “It’s bad enough that I don’t dance well. But people I don’t know always want to take pictures of me and talk to me just because of something I did six years ago. I know it’s even worse for Harry.”

“Yeah,” said Ginny in a sympathetic tone. “It’s been that way for Harry most of his life.”

Neville nodded, having nothing to say to that, and then asked Ginny if she would be playing Quidditch again this year.

“Yes – I got promoted to first reserve Chaser this year! They’re going to pay me for second reserve Seeker, too, so I’ve finally quit my job at Gringotts.”

“That’s great, Ginny!” said Neville, feeling genuinely happy for her. He knew she loved Quidditch, a passion he could never quite understand. He enjoyed watching it, of course, but couldn’t fathom why people would want to fly around on brooms. Neville preferred having both feet firmly planted on the ground.

Ginny chattered about the Appleby Arrows for awhile, and then Neville told her a little about his work with Snape on the Wolfsbane Potion.

“That’s right – last night was the full moon, wasn’t it?” said Ginny. “I talked to Remus earlier – he looks tired, but otherwise none the worse for wear.”

Talk of Remus led into pleasant reminiscences from their years at Hogwarts, and Neville actually felt a twinge of regret when the dance ended and Harry claimed his girlfriend. Thankfully, Lavender had gone to find Draco Malfoy and did not ask Neville to dance again.

Neville danced with a few other women, but spent most of his time hovering along the wall watching the others and trying to go easy on the delicious champagne and hors d’oeuvres. After a couple of hours had passed and he was beginning to feel very relaxed, it occurred to him that he should probably dance with his “date” at some point. He sought her out and managed to catch her between war heroes. “You know, I think the only celebrity you haven’t danced with tonight is your date,” he said in a teasing tone.

“That’s not true,” Rose said with a laugh. “I haven’t danced with the Minister, and I don’t think anyone can pry Ron Weasley away from his wife.”

Neville spent his dance with Rose alternatively annoyed and amused as she told him stories he knew well, but that she had heard from other points of view. Thankfully, very few of them had to do with the war; apparently his friends were as reluctant to talk about it as he was, because he doubted she had really understood that he hated discussing it.

As the dance ended, Neville said, “I think I’m going to leave soon – I need to go into the Centre early tomorrow. Are you ready to go?”

“Are you joking?” Rose asked in apparent shock as she released him and took a step back. “I could stay for hours!” She smiled at him, but her eyes were already shifting around, probably searching for her next dance partner. “Thank you for bringing me, Neville, I’m having a marvellous time. Go on without me – I can see myself home.” Her grin turned into a smirk as she continued, “Or maybe I won’t have to.”

Neville raised an eyebrow, but only said, “Thanks for coming with me,” even as she turned away. He smiled affectionately at her back, shook his head slightly, and went off to congratulate the new Minister and his wife.

As he walked out the door of the Ministry building into the crisp September night, a small sound caused him to look back. There appeared to be a figure cowering in an alcove near the door. Neville looked up and down the deserted street, wondering idly if he should take a closer look, and then wondering why he was even considering it; he had to be to work early the next morning. Just as he was going to Apparate home, however, the large, bright moon emerged from behind a cloud, and Neville saw the unmistakable glint of red hair on a form too small to belong to a man. “Ginny?” he called out.

The figure buried her head deeper into her arms, as if trying to hide from his sight. Neville walked over to her, crouched down, and gently touched her shoulder. “Ginny?” he repeated more softly.

“Oh, Neville,” she whispered through quiet sobs as she buried her head in his robes, pulling him down to his knees in an uncomfortable kneeling position. He patted her back awkwardly as she sobbed uncontrollably into his robes, cursing himself inwardly for pausing in the first place. Crying women were just impossible to deal with!

Finally the sobs slowed, and he asked quietly if she wanted him to go get Harry. To his complete astonishment, she started bawling more violently than before. Was it possible that Harry was the problem?

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, trying to use a gentle tone, but he was beginning to be alarmed. “Has something happened to Harry?”

She gasped and snivelled a few more times, obviously trying to control herself, and finally said, “No – Harry’s fine – now. He won’t be tomorrow, after I kill him.”

“Er – that might not be such a good idea, Ginny,” Neville said, trying to pull Ginny away from him so he could look at her face. “I’ve heard the Ministry frowns on murder these days. And think of the scandal it would cause to the new Minister if his daughter did something so … violent.” Neville had meant to try to lighten the mood, but only got a raised eyebrow for his efforts.

“Never mind,” said Ginny, wiping her eyes and starting to get to her feet, causing Neville to sit back on his haunches. “I’ll kill him right now.”

“No!” Neville protested, grabbing Ginny’s arm to prevent her from standing. “Go home, get some sleep, you’ll feel better about it in the morning.”

To his horror, her bottom lip started to tremble violently and the tears began afresh. “No,” she gasped, “it won’t be better – it’ll never be better.”

Neville wondered what on earth could drive Ginny Weasley into such despair. He had always thought of her as a strong woman; even as a teenager she had always seemed older, more mature than the other girls. It was almost frightening to see her in such anguish, and he wanted desperately to stop it.

“Come on, Ginny – I’ll take you home.”

“NO!” she shouted. “I can’t go home!” Neville stood up anyway and pulled her to her feet. She allowed him to help her up, but then jerked her arm out of his grasp. “Don’t you see? I can’t go home – Harry broke it off with me! We’re finished!”

Neville stared at her in shock. How was that possible after all this time? Harry had said he loved her! Of course, that had been two years ago…

“I’m sorry you had a fight,” Neville said, “but I think you both just need some sleep.” He felt stupid as soon as the words came out of his mouth; hadn’t he suggested sleep before? He couldn’t, however, think of any other advice to offer, and he didn’t want Ginny to go back into the ballroom and make a scene.

“It wasn’t a fight,” Ginny said, absentmindedly brushing off her robes. “We’ve argued a bit in the past, but never like this. He said…” she stopped as her lip began to tremble again. “Merlin – I can’t even say it! He said he…” she took a deep breath, “he said there’s someone else.”

Neville felt his jaw drop open in disbelief. After a moment, he felt anger bubbling up in his chest, anger against Harry and his betrayal of Ginny. He had said he would never betray her. How could he do this?

He forced his mouth to close, stepped closer to her, and gently wrapped his arms around her. “I am so sorry, Ginny,” he murmured into her hair. The gentle trembling of her body told him that she had started crying again. He couldn’t leave her like this, and she obviously couldn’t go home to Harry’s flat. She wouldn’t want to go to her parents’ home; he imagined that could be quite humiliating, not to mention that it would put a damper on the new Minister’s evening. Ron and Hermione were out of the question; even though Hermione was Ginny’s closest friend and Ron was her brother, they were also Harry’s best friends, which could make explanations quite awkward.

Neville made a sudden, if rather unwise, decision. “Come on – I’ll take you home.”

“I told you – I can’t…” she muttered into his chest.

“I mean to my flat. You can kip there tonight. We’ll sort all this out tomorrow.”

She drew back enough to look him in the eye. “Are you sure?” she said with a wary expression.

“Of course,” he said brightly, though he suddenly wasn’t sure at all. “It’s fine – I have two bedrooms.” He pulled her close and said, “I’ll Apparate us to my front door, okay?” Ginny nodded, and in the next instant they were standing on Neville’s welcome mat. He waved his wand to open the door and untangled himself from his houseguest as they made their way into his home.

Ginny had never been in his flat before. Neville found that he was a bit self-conscious about all the plants and research materials lying around, but Ginny didn’t seem to notice as Neville quickly showed her the kitchen and then the study.

“This isn’t a bedroom,” Ginny protested. “Where will I sleep?”

“You can sleep in my bed,” said Neville. “I can transfigure one of these chairs into a small bed, or I can kip on the sofa.”

“I hate for you to give up your bed,” she said. “I can sleep on the sofa – it’s no problem. I just appreciate you letting me stay here.” She paused for a moment and her eyes filled with tears again. “I didn’t know what to do. Thank you.”

Neville gestured as if to brush away her words; he had only done what any friend would have done, and he really didn’t want her to start crying again. “It’s okay. You can stay as long as you want. We’ll figure out a better sleeping arrangement tomorrow if we need to. For tonight you sleep in my bed – no arguments.”

“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I’m too knackered to argue anyway.”

She followed him into the bedroom. “Bathroom and toilet are through there,” he said, indicating the door. He opened the wardrobe, intending to pull out a spare blanket, but Ginny touched his arm, and he turned to face her.

“Thank you again,” she said with a wobbly smile. “I really appreciate this.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, and he automatically embraced her shoulders in return. Then she pulled back slightly, and he was surprised to see an odd, almost predatory expression in her eyes. “You know, your bed is big enough for two. There’s no reason for you to sleep on the sofa.” Neville knew there were a hundred reasons for him to sleep on the sofa, but he was having trouble remembering them as she leaned closer to his face. “I told Harry I wanted someone else, too,” she whispered. “It was a lie. I didn’t want him to know how badly he was hurting me. But you could make it true.”

Suddenly her lips were on his, and it was nothing like their kisses when they had dated at Hogwarts, which had been gentle and tentative. This was hot and demanding. Neville found his mind emptying of every thought except how his body was responding to Ginny’s lips and groping hands. In some distant part of his mind Neville realized they were moving towards the bed and that there was probably some reason they shouldn’t be doing this.

Something on the floor caught his foot, causing him to stumble and break the kiss and also causing his head to clear. Ginny giggled as she sat on the bed and reached out to pull him closer, but he grabbed her wrists to stop her.

“No, Ginny,” he said in what he had hoped would be a firm voice, but it came out more as a tremor. “This is wrong. We can’t do this.”

“What’s wrong with it?” said Ginny, twisting her wrists around to grab his hands and tugging him toward her. “I’m not dating anyone, and you’re not, are you?”

“This is not about you and me, this is about revenge, and I won’t have any part of it,” Neville said, pulling his hands out of her grip.

“Who cares?” said Ginny. “I can tell you want me, and I want you. What difference does it make why?”

“You don’t want me at all, Ginny. You want Harry. And this isn’t the way to get him back.”

“I don’t want him back! I want to move on! That’s what I’m trying to do here, move on! This has NOTHING to do with Harry!” Her eyes filled with tears and threatened to spill over.

“Even if that were true, it’s much too soon,” said Neville. “I refuse to take advantage of you.”

“Quit being such a noble Gryffindor, Neville. I can take care of myself!” She was obviously struggling not to cry, but quickly losing the battle. “If you don’t want me, just say so!” She lay on the bed with her back to him and curled her body into a ball, as if instinctively trying to protect her heart. Her shoulders shook violently with her silent sobs, and Neville felt his anger melt into compassion.

He went to the wardrobe, retrieved a blanket, and draped it carefully over her. Then he knelt beside the bed, leaned close to her ear, and said, “Ginny, you are a beautiful woman, and you deserve to be loved and treasured.”

“If – if that’s so,” she gasped around her sobs, “wh – why doesn’t anyone – want me?”

Neville’s heart broke a little at her desperate question, and for a brief moment he considered making love to her just to comfort her. He had never really thought about it since school because she had been Harry’s girlfriend, but she had a beautiful face, an athletic body, and a graceful manner that was very appealing. He imagined that he would take great pleasure in making love to her, but he knew that in the morning they would both regret their actions. What Ginny really needed was a friend, not more confusion.

He gently touched her shoulder and she rolled over to face him. His heart melted a little more when he saw her red, blotchy, tear-stained face. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and said, “Personally, I think Harry’s barking mad to give you up. But you deserve to be treated with respect. No matter how we tried to justify it, you would always think of this as a pity shag, and I would always wonder if you were thinking of Harry the whole time. We would both regret it in the morning, and it might ruin our friendship.”

Ginny stared at him for a moment and finally nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Neville said, unable to help a grin. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and said, “I’ll be in the living room. Just call if you need anything, okay?”

“Neville?” Ginny said with a sniffle.

“Yes?”

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she said in a tiny voice that he almost didn’t hear, “Don’t leave me?”

He stared into her eyes, which began to spill over again, wondering what to do. Was she trying to seduce him again? He didn’t know how long he could resist if she got too insistent; it had been hard to say no before.

Finally, he decided that she had no ulterior motive. He grabbed another blanket out of the wardrobe and crawled in beside her, still dressed in his shirt and slacks. She snuggled close and buried her head in his shoulder, and he gently stroked her hair until she stopped shaking and fell asleep.

*******************************************

It had been a long time since Neville had awoken to a presence in his bed, and he was a bit startled for a moment. The events of the night before came rushing into his mind as he stared into Ginny’s peaceful, sleeping face, lovely in the morning light despite the lingering blotchiness from crying. He slithered out of bed gently so he wouldn’t wake her, quietly grabbed a change of clothes out of the wardrobe, and padded into the kitchen to make breakfast. He had planned to go into work first thing this Saturday morning, but it occurred to him that it might be courteous to offer his houseguest breakfast first.

Ginny hadn’t made an appearance by the time Neville had changed clothes and eaten his own breakfast, so he prepared a tray for her and carried it to his room, pushing the door open with his foot. “Morning,” he said as she blinked at him in confusion and pulled herself into a sitting position. “Hungry?” He put the tray in front of her and watched the emotions play across her face. Her confusion changed to comprehension and sadness as she presumably remembered about Harry, but then her cheeks reddened as if she had been sunburned and she pulled the blanket up over her head.

“I am so sorry, Neville,” she said, her voice muffled by the blanket.

Neville pulled the blanket away from her and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “Forget it – you were distraught.”

“Merlin – I can’t believe I threw myself at you like that! What must you think of me?” She pulled the blanket over her head again.

Although he realized the question was meant to be rhetorical, Neville thought about it for a moment. He was surprised at Ginny’s actions the previous night, both because it seemed out of character for her and because the only women who had ever tried to seduce him before were motivated by his “war hero” status. He knew from experience, however, that extremely stressful situations could cause people to do uncharacteristic things.

“Really – it’s okay, Ginny,” he said sitting on the bed beside her. He found that he really didn’t think any less of her, and he was actually starting to feel stupid about his own behaviour the night before. First, he had almost given in and taken advantage of her, and then he had given her silly platitudes that probably sounded insincere. All he wanted to do was forget the whole thing ever happened, but Ginny was having none of it.

“Can you ever forgive me?” she asked, pulling the blanket down just far enough for him to see her eyes.

“There’s nothing to forgive. Like I said, you were distraught. I know you wouldn’t normally do that. Really, let’s just forget it.” He pushed the tray a little closer. “Come on out and eat.”

“What is that?” she said, letting the blanket fall, which revealed her severely rumpled dress robes.

“A bran muffin.”

“Muffin? That’s not a muffin!”

“It’s what the Americans call a muffin, apparently. They usually have fruit in them, but this kind is supposed to be especially good for you.”

She picked up the brown lump and sniffed it. “Did you make it?”

“Yes, actually,” Neville said, feeling himself reddening slightly. Not many people knew he could cook.

“Then I’ll try it.” She took a tentative bite and rolled the morsel in her mouth thoughtfully. “Hmmm… I think it’s pretty good, actually. And I probably should be eating stuff like this instead of eggs and bacon since I’ll be in training in a few days.”

Neville was unable to suppress a grin at her praise of the muffin, but he decided to turn the conversation to more practical matters. “When do you leave?”

“Wednesday.”

Neville nodded, realizing suddenly that he was nervous about what he was about to propose. “Do you want to stay here?” he blurted before could think about it too much and change his mind. Ginny dropped the muffin and stared at him. “I mean – it’s only a few days before you leave – and you can’t really go back to your flat – I mean Harry’s flat – I mean, unless you’re going to make up with him…”

“I’m not going to say another word to that bastard for the rest of my life if I can avoid it,” she said in a low voice which was more alarming than if she had shouted.

“Well, I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome to …”

“That’s okay,” Ginny interrupted. “I can’t really afford my own flat on my Quidditch salary yet, but Mum and Dad have plenty of room. I appreciate the offer, though.”

Neville nodded, knowing he should be relieved that she wouldn’t be staying, but surprised that he actually felt a vague sense of disappointment. Ginny continued to chew on the muffin and the silence grew awkward. Finally, Neville said, “I’ve got to go to work for awhile. You can Floo me at the Research Centre if you need anything. If you’re still here when I get back, I’ll make you some lunch.” Confident that he had now fulfilled all his duties as a host, he rose from the bed and started to exit the room.

“Thanks, Neville – for everything.”

He turned back to give her a smile. “No worries.”

********************************************

Neville loved going to the Research Centre on Saturdays when very few people were there; he was able to concentrate more easily without interruptions, and he could talk to the plants freely without the other scientists thinking he was mental. Even though most of the staff didn’t work on weekends, Neville went in every day to check his plants. He always had at least one experiment that was at a delicate stage.

He wished for the hundredth time that he could Apparate directly into his laboratory, but Apparition disturbed the air and the magical aura around the plants. So Neville Apparated to the front door of the facility and let himself in with his wand, his mind busy thinking about which plants needed attention that day. He had almost made it all the way down the corridor to his laboratory when he realized that something had been not quite right when he walked in. Sighing to himself, he doubled back to the foyer and gasped at the sight before him.

A man was lying on the floor, obviously dead, his eyes frozen wide in a look of terror.


	2. Ch 2

Author’s notes: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far! I love this site so much!

I love Swishandflick and Gianfar, and I hope to meet them someday and hug them and tell them that in person. That is all.

********************************************

The man was lying on his back in the foyer of the Research Centre, apparently dead. Neville assumed he was dead because his eyes were frozen wide open in a look of terror and there was foam around his mouth. He looked around for help, but of course the Centre was empty as was usual on Saturday mornings. Panic settled into his stomach as he wondered what to do.

It finally occurred to Neville to contact the Ministry, so he went down the hall to the fireplace. “Er … Ministry of Magic … Auror Division,” he said as he threw in the Floo powder. Of course, there probably wouldn’t be anyone there on Saturday morning …

“I’m sorry, there is no one available to take your call,” said the same female voice from the visitor’s entrance. “You are being diverted to the Auror on call.”

Neville began to feel queasy as the spinning seemed to go on for an inordinate time. Finally, it stopped and he found himself looking into an opulently decorated living room. A frightened-looking house-elf peered at him for a moment, and then disappeared. “Hello?” Neville called. He was getting tired of sitting on his knees, and was beginning to feel impatient. “Hello?” he called a little louder.

“I’m coming – I’m coming,” shouted a distant voice, and Neville cringed as he recognized it. He considered ending the call and contacting Harry or Ron instead, but then remembered that Ginny had spent the night in his flat, in his bed, in fact, and decided he’d rather face anyone else at the moment.

“Bloody hell, Longbottom! What are you doing here at this hour?” Neville had never seen Draco Malfoy look anything but perfect before, and he suddenly had the strange desire to laugh. Malfoy was tying a dressing gown over his bare chest, and his platinum blond hair was sticking out in all directions.

“Apparently you are the Auror on call,” Neville said with raised eyebrows, hoping to convey his doubts about Malfoy fulfilling his duties in this state.

“So what?”

“There’s a dead man here.”

Malfoy muttered a few more curses and said, “Where are you?” Neville gave him the address. “Is anyone else there?”

“No, just me,” Neville said, wondering if any of his co-workers would be in later.

"Are you expecting anyone else?"

"I doubt it," said Neville, shaking his head. "Not for awhile, anyway."

“Don’t leave,” Malfoy commanded. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” His eyes glazed over a little and he smirked up toward the ceiling. “Make that twenty minutes. Don’t touch anything. And don't let anyone else in."

Neville rolled his eyes, pulled his head out of the fireplace, and went reluctantly back to the foyer to join the dead man in waiting for Malfoy. He felt torn, because he would have preferred to work while he was waiting, but he felt oddly responsible for the man and thought he should watch over his body.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea how this man had died. Neville had never seen him before, and wondered what he was doing at the Research Centre. What if he had been murdered? Could one of his co-workers have killed someone? What if the killer came back? The questions whirled around in his head, and he felt panic seeping into his stomach again.

After thirty minutes an insistent pounding interrupted his musings. He pulled himself up from the floor where he had been guarding the unknown man and let Malfoy in. “Thanks for enjoying a shag while I was sitting here wondering if I was going to be murdered,” Neville said in a sarcastic tone.

“Where’s your Gryffindor courage?” Malfoy said disparagingly as he approached the body. His eyes widened when he saw the dead man, but he recovered himself quickly.

“Do you know him?” Neville asked.

“Yes,” Malfoy said with a sigh. “Do you?”

“I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?”

Malfoy gave him a long look, as if he were assessing his truthfulness. “Thurston Nott,” he finally said. “Theodore’s father.” He picked up Nott’s left arm, pushed up the sleeve, and showed Neville the Dark Mark. “He ran off during the Battle of Hogwarts. I wonder what he was doing back in Britain.”

Neville didn’t know what to say to that, so he watched silently as Draco performed several complicated-looking spells over the body. When he had finished, he walked over to stand right in front of Neville, a little too close for comfort, but the former Gryffindor held his ground.

“How did you know he had been murdered?” Malfoy asked in a soft voice, searching Neville’s eyes with an unreadable expression.

“I didn’t,” said Neville honestly, jumping a little as if Malfoy had shouted. “You made me wait so long that my imagination got a little carried away. I had no idea.”

“And if you did know something about it,” Malfoy continued in that same soft voice that was a bit hypnotic, “you certainly wouldn’t tell me, would you? I mean, who really cares about the murder of a Death Eater? They all deserved to die anyway, didn’t they?”

Neville had always wondered why the Ministry had made Draco Malfoy an Auror, of all people, but now he was beginning to see that Malfoy might actually be good at his job. He had nothing to confess, however, so he drew himself up to his full height, which was still a good three inches shorter than Malfoy, and said, “I had nothing to do with it, Malfoy. I walked in here this morning, saw the body, and called you. I didn’t even touch him.”

“And what were you doing here?”

“I work here. I come in every day.”

“Even Saturdays?”

“And Sundays, yes.”

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at him, his professionally blank expression turning into a smirk. “Well, I guess you have to do something to make up for having no social life.”

The Auror was really beginning to try Neville’s normally long patience. “At least I don’t shag everything that moves. What kind of social life is that, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s eyes blazed and his smirk disappeared. “I’m going to have to take you to Headquarters, Longbottom.”

“Why? Because I stood up to you? Because I insulted you? I know you don’t believe I had anything to do with this.”

“Actually, I’m not sure what to believe,” said Malfoy in the soft voice he had used before. “I know you’re not afraid to kill if it suits your purpose, but I don’t think you would be this good at lying.”

Neville had nothing to say to that; he didn’t like being reminded that he had killed before.

“Come on,” barked Malfoy, turning away from him. “Don’t make me take you in by force.”

After they had Apparated to the Ministry and stowed the corpse on a table in a sterile-looking room, Neville followed Malfoy back to his cubicle. He sat in a chair in front of Malfoy’s desk while the Auror scribbled on two pieces of parchment, sealed them in envelopes, and left for several minutes, presumably to send the missives. When he returned, Neville was beginning to feel very impatient.

“Why am I here?” he snapped at Malfoy. “You have no reason to hold me.”

Malfoy waved his wand at a black box on his desk, and then asked, “What time did you leave the ball last night?”

Neville rolled his eyes and decided it would be easiest to submit to the questioning since he had nothing to hide. “Around eleven, I think.”

“Where did you go?”

“Home.”

“And where did you go after that?”

“I was home all night. I got up this morning around seven and went to the Research Centre around eight. You know what happened from there.”

“I assume you were alone in your flat last night.”

The question took Neville by surprise, but he realized that he should have expected it. Unfortunately, he did have something to hide.

“Actually – no. I wasn’t alone.”

“Who was with you?”

“I – I can’t tell you that,” Neville said, cringing a little.

“How do you expect me to confirm your alibi if you won’t tell me who it is?” Malfoy said with a sceptical expression. “You’re lying. You expect me to believe you actually got a woman to go home with you last night? I was with your date, so don’t try to tell me it was her.”

“You took … wait – that was Rose this morning?” Neville asked in surprise. He felt a bit of righteous indignation for his co-worker, as if he were her older brother. “You know I’ll kill you if you hurt her, Malfoy.”

“Oh, brilliant, Longbottom. Threatening the Auror who’s questioning you about a murder. This is being recorded, you know.”

Neville’s heart sank at his stupidity. “You know I didn’t kill anyone, Malfoy. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Tell me who you were with, Longbottom, or I’ll assume you’re lying and have no alibi. If you’re lying about that, you could be lying about the murder as well.”

Neville took a deep breath to keep himself from telling Malfoy exactly where he could put his theories. “I did not kill anyone. I was in my flat all night. Someone else was there. I’m not going to tell you who. If you want to throw me in Azkaban, fine, but please let me talk to Rose first so I can give her instructions about my plants.”

Malfoy gazed at him with an unreadable expression, and Neville unwaveringly returned his stare until they both broke off to look for the source of approaching footfalls. Harry was hurrying toward them, eyes narrowed in anger, followed closely by Ginny. Neville started in surprise.

“Why did she tag along?” Malfoy asked Harry as they reached his desk. Ginny stepped in front of Harry and Neville tried to catch her eye, but she seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

“Ginny…” Neville said, but Ginny ignored him.

“Neville was home all night,” she told Malfoy in a firm voice. “I was with him.”

Malfoy stared at her in shock for a moment, and then looked at Neville and Harry in turn, apparently not sure whether to be outraged or amused. “Now I understand why you wouldn’t tell me,” he said quietly to Neville.

“Thanks, Ginny,” Neville said, standing. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I …” Ginny began, but Harry interrupted.

“TURN THAT DAMN RECORDER OFF! You don’t need to record me beating Neville to a pulp!” He took a few menacing steps toward Neville and shouted, “I thought you were my mate! What were you doing with my girlfriend?”

“We didn’t …” Neville began, but Ginny stepped in front of him.

“You gave up your right to care where I spend my nights last night when you dumped me, Harry Potter!” she screamed into Harry’s face, causing Harry to cringe. “You broke whatever flimsy commitment we had last night when you said there was someone else. I didn’t break it – YOU did. And it certainly isn’t Neville’s fault. So BACK OFF!”

Neville watched as Harry’s expression crumpled and he took a step backwards. He almost felt sorry for him; Ginny could be quite frightening, and he was very glad her anger wasn’t directed at him. The break-up was clearly Harry’s fault, but it suddenly occurred to Neville that Ginny had five brothers, all with much more volatile tempers than Harry. They would certainly hear that Ginny had spent the night in his flat …

“This is an odd, not to mention loud, conversation for a murder case,” said a deep voice from down the corridor. Kingsley Shacklebolt approached Malfoy’s cubicle with an expression that held both irritation and amusement. “What’s going on here, Malfoy?”

“Longbottom found a corpse this morning – it's in the examination room. We’re establishing his alibi to rule him out as a suspect.”

“And this involves Potter’s and Weasley’s relationship?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy, his lip curling slightly. “Miss Weasley is Longbottom’s alibi. His overnight alibi.”

“Ah,” Shacklebolt said sagely, nodding his head, his eyes taking in all the occupants of the cubicle. “I see. Well, I think you can handle this, Malfoy. I look forward to reading your report on Monday.”

The Auror paused, and Neville looked around at the faces in the cubicle; Harry was staring at the floor, obviously still angry, Ginny was looking at Neville with a nervous expression, and Malfoy was looking at Harry with an oddly calculating gaze.

Shacklebolt smirked into the awkward silence. “Come on, Potter,” he said. “Let’s go and look at the crime scene.”

As Harry slunk sullenly out of the cubicle, Malfoy said, “I’ll be out there soon.” Shacklebolt nodded once and followed Harry.

“Can I go now?” Neville asked Malfoy.

“No,” said Malfoy. “I’ve got to finish this up. We wouldn’t want people to accuse us of giving preferential treatment to a ‘war hero’, would we now?” He turned his gaze to Ginny. “You, however, may go.” Ginny shrugged and turned to exit the cubicle, pausing briefly to give Neville a look that seemed almost pleading.

“I thought they’d never leave,” Malfoy said rather absently as he scribbled on parchment. “Who’s the head of the Research Centre?”

“Oh, Merlin, I never even thought to contact him! Ernest Martin.”

“And who does he report to here at the Ministry?”

“Ralph Croaker,” said Neville.

“Department of Mysteries?”

“The very same. It’s all research, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. What do they do up there?” Malfoy asked, leaning eagerly toward Neville.

“Is this part of my official questioning?”

“I was just curious,” Malfoy said in a sullen tone. “Harry will never talk about it, either.”

“It’s not my most pleasant memory.” Neville couldn’t help glaring at Malfoy; his father was the one who had been in charge of the Death Eaters during that battle, and at one point had directly threatened Neville’s life, even though Neville had only been fifteen years old. It was sometimes difficult to remember that Malfoy had turned away from his father’s ideals, especially since he was still a prat.

“Here, sign this,” Malfoy said, shoving the parchment toward him. Neville leaned over and peered at it.

“What am I signing?” he asked, skimming the document.

“It’s a sworn statement of your whereabouts last night. I may have to get one from Ginny, but I doubt it. I don’t think anyone is going to believe you killed Nott.”

Neville wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he settled for scribbling his name on the parchment.

“You know,” said Malfoy as he stored the parchment carefully in his desk, “you would have been in a lot less trouble if you had just let me throw you in Azkaban for murder. Ginny let Harry think you shagged her last night, and she has five brothers. I don’t envy you at all. I only wish I could watch when her brothers visit you this afternoon.”

“Ta, Malfoy,” Neville muttered as he turned to leave.

“You didn’t really shag her, did you?” Neville stopped walking for a moment, decided not to respond, and then hurried down the corridor, but still heard Malfoy’s voice calling, “I knew it!”


	3. Ch 3

Neville wasn’t surprised to see Ginny sitting at his kitchen table drinking tea when he arrived in his flat. “Let me make you some lunch,” Neville said, hoping to postpone the inevitable conversation as long as possible.

“I ordered a pizza,” said Ginny. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Neville was torn; he loved pizza, but he was trying to maintain his weight, and pizza was very fattening. He suddenly had a crazy urge to laugh; it was ridiculous to be worrying about calories when he might have five angry older brothers coming though his fireplace at any moment. “No, I don’t mind,” he said, sitting at the table across from her.

“Want some tea?” asked Ginny.

“I’ll get it,” he said, pushing his chair back from the table.

“No, allow me,” Ginny insisted, summoning a cup and the kettle.

The piffle about food and drink was starting to annoy him. “Ginny, why did you let Harry think we slept together?” he blurted out.

Ginny giggled a little. “We did sleep together.”

“You know what I mean. Harry thinks we shagged!”

Ginny’s expression became serious and she sighed. “Yeah – I’m sorry about that. It felt really good at the time, but I’ll tell him the truth.”

“He’s my friend, Ginny. I don’t want him to think I betrayed him.”

“Well, like I said at the Ministry, he’s the one who did the betraying, not you or me, even if we had slept together.” She gave him the same pleading look she had given him in Draco’s cubicle. “I’m sorry. I should have never put you in the middle of this.”

“How did you know about the murder?”

“I was at the flat to get my things when Harry got the owl from Draco,” Ginny said, her expression sobering. “Good thing, actually; Harry was trying to start a row over CD’s.”

“Ginny! Neville!” called a voice from the living room. “Are you in there? I want to come through.”

“Oh, Merlin!” Ginny said, burying her face in her hands. “When has Harry had time to tell Ron?”

Neville signed as he went into the living room, but realized he should be grateful it wasn’t one of the twins. He knelt by the fireplace and said, “Hello, Ron,” in what he hoped was a calm voice.

“Do you still have my sister there?” Ron demanded.

“Ginny is still here, yes,” Neville said, feeling a little irritated that Ron seemed to be implying that he was holding her against her will.

“I’m coming through,” said Ron.

“That won’t be necessary, Ron,” said Ginny from behind Neville, causing Neville to start in surprise. “You can see that I’m just fine. I’m not a child – I can take care of myself.”

“What happened with Harry?” said Ron.

“Didn’t he tell you? He said there was someone else and he broke up with me, end of story.”

“But that’s not the end of the story. After that, you went home with Neville, and you’re still there!”

Neville looked closely at Ron’s face. Despite the green hue from the flames, he didn’t look particularly angry or violent, just very puzzled and a bit shocked. “Ginny ordered a pizza,” he told Ron. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”

Ron’s expression softened considerably, possibly because of the offer of food, and in the next moment he was straightening up and dusting himself off. The three stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then Ron said, “Ginny, what are you doing here?”

Ginny sighed. “Obviously I couldn’t go home last night, and I didn’t want to go to the Burrow and ruin Mum and Dad’s evening, and Neville offered.” She shrugged casually, but her expression was defiant.

There was another awkward silence, and Neville was relieved when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get the pizza,” said Ginny. Neville took a step toward the door and she said, “No, I insist. I’ve caused you enough trouble.” She looked warily between Neville and Ron, but appeared to decide it was safe to leave them alone.

While Ginny was paying for the pizza, Neville said, “You haven’t hexed me yet.”

“No,” said Ron. “I know you wouldn’t hurt Ginny.”

“Cheers. Too bad Harry doesn’t know that.”

“He does,” said Ron, “but he can go a little crazy when he gets angry.” Neville thought that statement was ironic coming from someone with a temper worse than Harry’s, but he managed to suppress his grin. “Even I can see that Harry’s the one at fault here,” Ron shrugged.

Ginny shut the front door and the three of them went into the kitchen to eat. Neville pulled three plates out of a cabinet and three bottles of butterbeer out of the refrigerator. For several minutes, there were only the sounds of eating and drinking, but this time, the silence wasn’t awkward.

“Harry didn’t tell us there was someone else,” Ron finally said. “He only said it wasn’t working out between you two. Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Ginny. “He didn’t say, and I was too upset to ask.” She paused for a moment and looked down at her plate. “You should know that I told him I was interested in someone else, too.”

“Who?” Ron said, gaping at her in surprise. “Neville?”

“No!” Ginny said quickly, looking her brother in the eye. “There’s no one. I lied to get back at Harry.”

Ron looked appraisingly at Ginny, then turned to Neville, his eyes narrowed as if contemplating a chess move. “Harry thinks you two shagged last night.”

“Yeah,” said Ginny. “I feel bad about that. Neville was a perfect gentleman. I’ll tell Harry the truth.”

Ron’s face broke into a mischievous grin to rival his twin brothers. “I don’t think you should,” he said slowly, as if working out what he was going to say as he said it. “He was very angry this morning. Might do him some good. Maybe he’ll see what an arse he’s being.”

Ginny stared at her brother in shock, but then her expression slowly became mischievous as well. Neville had never appreciated how much the Weasleys looked alike until that moment.

“He’s the one who made the assumptions,” Ginny said, nodding. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes had a glint Neville didn’t like. “Maybe if he thinks I’m moving on, he’ll realize he made a mistake and want me back.”

“Or he’ll turn to that ‘someone else’ he mentioned,” Ron said, and Ginny’s eyes widened in alarm. “Well, if he’s not sure he loves you, it might be better if he did, as much as you don’t want to hear it,” Ron continued, his expression softening. “You deserve someone who’s committed and sure, Ginny.”

“I deserve to be loved and treasured,” said Ginny softly, looking at Neville with an unreadable expression.

“I stand by what I said,” Neville stated, “even though I know it sounded like silly platitudes.”

“It was brilliant,” Ginny said, and she surprised Neville by reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”

“So, is it a plan?” asked Ron, looking between the two of them.

“No,” said Ginny. “It wouldn’t be fair to Neville for people to believe we’re a couple – he wouldn’t be able to date other people.”

Neville snorted. “I don’t anyway,” he murmured. “Actually, Ginny, I don’t mind at all.”

Ginny looked from Ron to Neville warily, and finally said, “Well … okay, but just let people believe what they’re going to believe anyway – there’s no reason to make a big announcement or anything.”

“Good,” said Ron. “This will give Harry something to think about and maybe he’ll come to his senses. Now we just have the problem of where you’re going to live.”

Before Ginny could speak, Neville said, “I told you last night you could stay here until you leave for training, Ginny, and I meant it.”

“Yeah – that’s a good idea, Ginny,” said Ron. “You should just move in with Neville!” Neville had just taken a sip of butterbeer and had to restrain himself from spitting it all over the table. Move in with him? He didn’t have room in his flat, or his life, for another person right now! Ron, however, kept extolling the virtues of his idea. “It doesn’t make sense for you to get your own flat when you’ll only be in it a couple of days a week. You could move in with me and Hermione, but Harry is over a lot, and that could be awkward. You could move in with Mum and Dad, but you know Mum will smother you, and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. The twins are living with Angelina and Alicia, even though they’re pretending they aren’t, Charlie’s in Romania, and Bill doesn’t have room. I’d say this is actually your best option. And Neville’s willing, aren’t you mate?”

Oddly, it seemed that Ron was right; this was Ginny’s best option. She would be away most of the time with her Quidditch team, so she probably wouldn’t be much trouble. Besides, he felt terrible for her and wanted to help. “Sure,” he found himself saying, trying not to think about Harry’s reaction when he found out. He didn’t think Harry would really hurt him, but he knew Harry would probably be angry until he remembered that he had started the whole mess.

“Great, then, it’s settled,” Ron said, rubbing his hands together. “Do you want help moving your things, Ginny?”

“You know, you’re treating me like a child, Ron,” Ginny said in an irritated tone, but Neville noticed her eyes looked relieved. “Did you forget to ask if this is okay with me?”

“Er … um … You’re upset and grieving and … er … not able to make wise decisions on your own?” Ron said, looking repentant.

“It’s okay,” said Neville to Ginny. “I could use the company.” That was a blatant lie, but he wanted to make her feel comfortable. Another thought occurred to him. “As long as I don’t have four more angry Weasleys coming through my fire.”

“I’ll take care of my brothers,” said Ron.

Neville was a little nervous about going to Harry’s flat to help Ginny pack, but Harry wasn’t home. Apparently he actually had the sensitivity to give her some privacy while packing. Neville had to question the wisdom of that, however; he was sure he saw a mischievous glint in Ginny’s eyes as she packed some of “her” jumpers and compact disks.

They were all quite dizzy by the time they had gone back and forth through the Floo three times carrying Ginny’s things. “I had no idea I had accumulated so much stuff!” Ginny said when everything had been transferred to Neville’s living room.

“Yeah, and where are you going to put it with all these plants?” Ron asked, looking around Neville’s flat.

“Come on, Ginny,” said Neville. “You can help me transfigure my chair into a bed, and I’m sure I’ve got something we can transfigure into another wardrobe … Ron, can you adjust the wards to admit Ginny?”

The best they could do with the chair was a small, uncomfortable day bed, and Neville decided he’d rather sleep on the sofa. “I’ll see if Mum and Dad will give up one of the beds at the Burrow,” said Ginny. “They certainly don’t need them all any more, and they’re quite comfortable.”

“What are you going to tell your parents?” Neville asked, picturing the new Minister of Magic sending him to Azkaban.

“I don’t know, but I’d better go talk to them today before they hear about it from someone else,” she said with a glum expression.

“Want me to talk to them?” said Ron.

“No. I’ll handle it. You’ve done enough.” Ginny walked over to her brother, took him into her arms, and laid her head on his chest. “You’ve been wonderful, actually. Thank you.” She pulled back to look at him and he leaned over so that his forehead was resting on hers.

“Any time,” said Ron.

“I love you, you know,” said Ginny.

“I know.” He kissed her forehead and gave her another squeeze, and then disappeared into the fireplace. Neville watched them with a longing that surprised him, realizing how nice it would have been to have had siblings. If only his parents hadn’t been injured …

Thinking of his parents reminded him that he still hadn’t seen to his plants at the Research Centre. “Ginny, will you be all right for awhile? I never got anything done at work.”

“Sure. Actually, I think I’m going to go to Mum and Dad’s right now. I may as well get it over with.”

***********************************

Ginny spent most of Sunday unpacking and sorting her things, and then repacking what she needed to take to Appleby for Quidditch camp. Neville offered several times to help, but she told him that she had to do it herself since only she knew how to sort it all out, so he spent most of the day in his study researching the long term effects of daily consumption of gingko biloba.

“Are you on the internet?” Ginny asked, startling him; he hadn’t heard her come into the room.

“Yeah – how did you …”

“Harry has a computer. But I’m a little surprised you have one.”

“Dean told me about them,” Neville explained. “And then a few years ago I started studying Muggle plants and thought this might be a good way to do research. I think there might be a real future in cross-breeding Muggle plants with traditional potions ingredients.”

“Is that what you’re doing with the Wolfsbane Potion – crossing the wolfsbane plant with Muggle plants?”

“Yes, actually. It’s funny – the wolfsbane plant doesn’t have any magical properties on its own, Muggles are very familiar with it, but it’s not considered a “Muggle plant” because it’s used in potions. I guess Muggle plants are loosely defined as those found to not be useful in potions. But my approach is a bit different, since I’m attempting to cross-breed them.” Neville suddenly realized he was rambling. “I’m sorry – it’s not wise to get me started talking about my research – there’s a real danger that you’ll fall asleep from boredom.”

“No, not at all – I think it’s interesting.”

Neville didn’t believe her, but instead of arguing he looked at the clock on the wall. “Oh, Merlin! I’ll bet you’re hungry. I’m sorry – I’m not used to having anyone else here.”

“No, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have interrupted you. I don’t want to be any trouble. It’s just that I found some frozen dinners and wondered if it was okay if I heated one.”

“It’s okay. I should thank you, actually. If I’m not careful I stay up past midnight and never eat dinner!”

In the end, they heated up two frozen entrees and ate together in the kitchen. Ginny was quiet as they ate, and Neville thought she looked nervous. He wondered what he could have done to make her uncomfortable, and began to feel edgy himself.

When she was finished, Ginny took a deep breath as if bracing herself for something unpleasant. “You know,” she said, “we’ve never talked about rent and such. How much do you pay every month?”

Neville stared at her for a moment, wondering if that was what had been worrying her. “Ginny,” he said, “I’m used to paying it every month. You don’t have to pay me anything. It won’t cost me any more for you to live here, and you’ll be in Appleby more than you’ll be here.”

“But I need to pay you for your inconvenience.”

“It’s no inconvenience – I like having you here.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but so far he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

“Look, Neville,” she said, and Neville noticed the tips of her ears and her cheekbones were beginning to turn red. “I’m eating your food, I’m sleeping in your bed, and my things are taking up space even when I’m not here. I’m going to pay half the rent, Neville. It’s only fair.”

Neville was beginning to suspect that she was insisting because of her pride, and that refusing her might actually hurt her. He didn’t need the money, and he knew that reserve players didn’t make much salary, but he thought it might be more important for her to feel she had some pride and some control over her life after what had happened with Harry. So in the end he told her how much he paid, and she promised to pay half when she came back next weekend. “Pay me a fourth,” said Neville. “You’re only here half the month.”

“Okay,” said Ginny, “and I’ll pick up groceries sometimes.” She stood, banished her disposable tray to the rubbish bin, and said, “I’d better finish packing. Thanks, Neville.”

It seemed odd that Ginny was thanking him when she was the one giving him money, but Neville understood.

************************************

“Thank you so much for inviting me to the ball, Neville!” Rose gushed at work Monday morning. “It was fabulous!”

“I’m glad you had fun,” Neville said, only half listening as he prepared pots for the transfer of mandrakes. He continued to work as she prattled on about the people she had met and what everyone was wearing; he only stopped to focus on her when she mentioned Draco Malfoy.

“He’s fun,” she said, “but I got the impression right away that he’s not the type to follow up, if you know what I mean. If he calls me, I’d probably go out with him, but if he doesn’t, that’s okay, too. He’s a bit full of himself – has he always been that way?”

Neville couldn’t help laughing, especially since he was relieved that Malfoy apparently hadn’t hurt Rose. “Actually, he was much worse when we were in school, if you can believe it.”

“Longbottom,” called a voice from the door. Neville looked up and saw his boss standing there, apparently very angry. “My office.” Neville followed Mr. Martin out the door and up the corridor to his office.

The head of the research facility spent over two hours questioning Neville about exactly what had transpired on Saturday, including how he had found the body and what Malfoy had said to him. As a result, he had to catch up on his daily work after everyone else had left the facility, and he arrived home fairly late.

When Neville arrived in his living room, Ginny was curled up on the sofa watching television and eating ice cream straight out of the carton.

“Is that your dinner?” asked Neville, indicating the carton.

“Are you my mother?” she shot back.

He murmured an apology as he walked into the kitchen. Feeling ravenous, he opened the freezer to retrieve a frozen entrée, but there were four more pints of ice cream crowded in front of everything else. Instead of rummaging, he pulled out a pint of chocolate almond and walked back into the living room. “Ginny, do you mind if I have one?”

She turned away from the television to look at him and gave a heavy sigh. “I suppose not,” she said in a reluctant tone. “I suppose I’ll still have enough.”

“You’re leaving in the morning. Were you planning to eat five pints of ice cream tonight?”

“Six,” she said, “I’ve already had one.” She turned back to the television. Neville wanted to ask her if that much ice cream would make her sick, but didn’t want to be accused of being her mother again. So he sat down on the other sofa, kept silent, and tried to get interested in the television program while ploughing through his own pint. It was what Dean called a “reality” show, but the premise was so contrived that Neville knew the term was being used very loosely.

“I’m going through the five stages of grief,” Ginny said after a long while, startling him. “Harry’s really lucky I’ve already made it through the ‘murderous’ stage. I’ve also made it through the ‘throwing-yourself-at-another-man’ stage, and now I’m on to the ‘chocolate’ stage.”

“That’s not exactly how I remember them from the grief counsellors,” said Neville, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore had insisted that the students have access to counsellors. The one Neville had seen had been an idiot; she had tried to compare the violent death of Seamus to the death of her ill grandmother.

“Those were the stages for dealing with death,” said Ginny. “I’m dealing with the loss of a boyfriend. They’re a bit different.”

“Oh,” Neville said vaguely. He wanted to laugh, but he got the impression that she was completely serious, so he turned his attention back to his ice cream and the television.

After a few moments, she spoke again. “I wonder who it is. He wouldn’t say. I wonder if it’s Lavender. It’s weird that he broke up with me the day she showed up.”

“I don’t think it could possibly be Lavender,” said Neville, remembering how awful she was at the ball.

“I wonder if Hermione knows who it is. I know Ron doesn’t, but, let’s face it – my brother can be thick at times. I don’t think Harry would have told her and not Ron, but she may have figured it out. I should ask her when I get back.”

She paused, and Neville was wondering if he should comment on this when she began to speak again.

“You know, I’ve never had sex with anyone else. Harry told me I was his first. I wonder if he’s had sex with her yet.” Neville was getting a little uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation, but Ginny wasn’t looking at him and her eyes had a faraway expression. Neville wondered if she had forgotten he was in the room. “Ugh! I wonder if he shagged her while we were still together,” she said, screwing her face up with disgust. “You know, I bet he has been sleeping with her – he’s not been quite as interested in sex now for a few months.” That was more information than Neville really wanted to know, and he started to get up to leave the room, but her voice stopped him.

“Maybe there’s not anyone else at all – maybe he was just lying about that to get rid of me. I wonder if I could have done something so horrible to make him not want to be with me any more.” Neville wanted to comment that he was sure Ginny had done nothing of the sort, but he was beginning to realize that Ginny was not really talking to him; she was simply rambling to sort her feelings out. He was not expected to answer, and she might even be startled if he did. So he sat there, quiet and still except for eating his ice cream, and let her talk it out.

“I think he might be jealous that I’m playing Quidditch,” she continued. “I tried to get him to try out for a team, but he was determined to be an Auror. He said he knew any Quidditch team in Britain would hire him because of who he was, but he wanted to do something that he’d earned. He knew Shacklebolt would treat him just like all the other trainees, and he was right. The days he came home sore and grumpy I know he envied me, even though I came home sore and grumpy plenty of days myself.” She paused to scrape the inside of her carton and put a huge bite in her mouth. “If that was the case, I wish he would have just tried out for Quidditch instead of dumping me.” Her eyes filled with tears, and he was afraid she might start crying. If she did, he didn’t know what he would do; he was still a bit uncomfortable with what had almost happened two nights before.

Instead of crying, however, she abruptly got up from the sofa and went back into the kitchen, peering angrily into her carton as if it had offended her. She returned only moments later with a new pint, prying the lid open as she walked.

“You know,” Ginny said as she resumed her seat, looking directly at Neville this time, “you’re a really good listener. I usually use Harry or Hermione as my sounding board, but it would be awkward to talk to Hermione about this stuff right now – I’d hate for her to feel caught in the middle.” She gave a heavy sigh and took a huge bite of ice cream. “I hope I can still be friends with Hermione,” she said after swallowing, staring past Neville again. “But I want Ron and Hermione to be able to be friends with Harry, too. This is going to be weird for awhile.” She took another bite, and her eyes began to glaze over slightly and took on a wistful expression. “Of course, if Harry and I were to get back together, it wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe I’ll Floo him when I get back.”

“I think you should,” Neville said, sincerely hoping that Ginny could have what she wanted. She seemed a bit startled that he had spoken, and she appeared to focus on him again.

“I’m starting to feel a bit queasy,” she said, glaring at the ice cream. “I have to get up early tomorrow. I think I’ll go to bed now.” She went into the kitchen, presumably to store the rest of her pint in the freezer, and paused as she crossed back through the living room.

“I’ll try not to wake you in the morning, and I should be back sometime Friday night. Thanks, Neville, for everything. You’re a great friend.”

***************************

Author’s notes: Thanks to Swishandflick and Gianfar. They’re wonderful. Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far. This story is a lot of fun for me.


	4. Ch 4

A Quiet Life  
By Cindale  
Chapter 4

 

Early the next morning, while it was still dark, a horrible sound woke Neville. He was a bit startled to realize he was in his study, but then remembered his houseguest. No, his roommate. He pulled open the study door and pounded on the door to the bathroom.

“Ginny? Are you all right?”

She retched again in answer. “Guess not,” Neville muttered to himself. He tried the door, and to his surprise, it opened easily. “Ginny?” he said, feeling suddenly timid.

Her body convulsed as she leaned over the toilet. Neville hurried to stand behind her and gathered her long, wet hair in an attempt to keep it out of the way. As she continued to vomit he stood there, holding her hair, and feeling as if he should say something soothing, but having no idea what.

Finally she stopped and sat back on her knees. Neville let go of her hair, wet a washcloth, and handed it to her. “Thanks, Neville,” she whispered.

“I don’t think you should go to practice today.”

“Nonsense,” she said in a weak voice. “I just ate too much last night, and I’m a bit nervous. I can’t miss the first day of practice.”

“Don’t they have a medi-wizard or witch on staff? Will you at least check with him?”

“No! I’ll be fine.” She sat back on her bum, crossed her legs in front of her, and put her face in her hands. “Could you get me a towel, Neville?”

“Are you going to be sick again?” he asked, crossing the bathroom to retrieve one.

“No,” she said. When he turned back to her she had an odd expression, and as soon as he got within reach, she grabbed the towel and used it to cover her body, which Neville realized tardily was clad only in a bra and knickers. This made him realize his own state of undress; he slept only in his boxers, and it hadn’t occurred to him to grab a dressing gown when he had heard Ginny’s distress.

Neville swallowed and said, “I think I’ll go get a shirt on.”

“Me too.” She gave him a weak smile, and he left her alone to get dressed, but tried to listen for any more sounds of her being sick.

He insisted she drink a cup of tea with a sprig of mint to ease her nausea. It seemed to help, and she actually ate a bit of toast before she left for Appleby.

As soon as Neville arrived at work he received the summons from the Minister of Magic. It took him by surprise, but he immediately realized he should have expected it. He was to be in his office for lunch at Noon, and the language did not allow for refusal. Neville thought it was interesting that the Minister had waited until Ginny was gone to Appleby, presumably so she couldn’t interfere, but had sent for him on the first day of her absence, conveying the urgency of the meeting. It was also interesting that they were meeting in the Minister’s office and not in his home, or on neutral ground, like a restaurant. Neville had always thought of Arthur Weasley as a quiet, gentle man, but the manner in which he was summoned was sufficient to cause him a significant amount of intimidation.

He kept adjusting his robes on the lift, wishing he had known about the meeting when he had dressed that morning. Thankfully, his robes didn’t have any patches or stains, but they weren’t his best, either.

At precisely 11:55 AM, Neville arrived at the Minister’s office and was told to wait by his assistant, but was not offered a chair. The reception area was brightly lit, so Neville was unable to find a place he could remain inconspicuous and struggled not to fidget while he waited. Finally, after twenty minutes, he was told to enter, and Neville swallowed as he opened the heavy wooden door.

The office had dark carpet and was panelled with wood, but somehow still managed to be bright and cheerful. This was likely because of the sunlight streaming through the huge, uncovered windows which lined two walls. Neville suspected the windows were charmed so that no one could see through them from the outside; otherwise he could imagine the stories that would appear in the media about the visitors to the Minister’s office.

They were served lamb chops, jacket potatoes, steamed vegetables and red wine at a small table for two in the Minister’s huge office. The food was excellent, and the wine was even better. Mr. Weasley explained that there was a charm on the wine so that the effects of the alcohol would be suppressed; otherwise he would never drink it during a workday, of course.

Mr. Weasley chatted only about inconsequential things, and Neville found himself relaxing. He had expected to be interrogated about his relationship with Ginny, and in the back of his mind he kept anticipating it, but the questions never came.

When they had finished their lunch, Mr. Weasley waved his wand towards a small table and a tray sailed in their direction, stopping just short of Neville’s face. Neville suddenly had the wild thought that perhaps the Minister had called him to his office to decapitate him, but dismissed it as ridiculous. If he wanted to kill him, why would he feed him first?

“Have you ever had cheesecake, Neville?” said Mr. Weasley, pulling a cloth from the tray and revealing two saucers with thin triangles of a yellow substance.

“No.”

“I’m sure you’ll like it – give it a try.”

Neville took one of the plates and sampled the dessert. It was wonderful – creamy, smooth, and not too sweet. “It’s delicious,” he pronounced.

“It’s even better with chocolate,” said Mr. Weasley, sampling the other serving. After he had swallowed, he changed the subject. “Remus tells me you’re making some advances with the Wolfsbane Potion.”

“Well, Professor Snape’s actually been brewing the potion,” said Neville modestly. “I’ve just been working on the wolfsbane plant.” Neville was quiet for a moment, wondering whether to continue with this topic, and finally decided the Minister had been pleasant so far, and would likely see his request as a plea for Remus and not Neville himself. “Actually, I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but I’ve been working on the wolfsbane plant on my own time and in my own flat. I had been working on it at the Research Centre, but when the Ministry found out, they forced me to stop. There’s still a lot of prejudice against werewolves in the Ministry, Mr. Weasley.”

The Minister fixed Neville with an unreadable, but piercing expression. “I _am_ aware of that, Neville. To tell you the truth, I was hoping you would tell me exactly who forbade you from working on the wolfsbane plant. I would like for this administration to be free from all prejudices, and to do that, I need to find out who is perpetuating them.”

Neville’s mind raced as Mr. Weasley’s eyes continued to bore into him. He certainly didn’t want to give Ginny’s father another reason to be angry with him, but he felt it would be disloyal to tell him who had stopped the wolfsbane project. He didn’t particularly like Mr. Martin, he found him arrogant and intimidating, but he still didn’t feel like betraying Mr. Martin’s personal prejudices to someone who had the power to end the man’s career. Finally, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” he told the Minister, his body stiffening in anticipation of Mr. Weasley’s reaction.

“You mean you don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”

Neville sighed; the temptation to lie was significant, but somehow he knew it wasn’t a good idea. “I won’t tell you.” Neville looked Mr. Weasley straight in the eye, but he clenched his fists under the table in trepidation.

Mr. Weasley sighed. “Pity, I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.” The Minister’s mouth was turned down in a frown, but his eyes showed an expression of satisfaction, as if Neville had given the right answer. “Well, I’d best get back to work, Neville. Thank you for coming today.”

Neville stared at him incredulously; he wasn’t angry about Neville’s refusal to betray Mr. Martin, and he hadn’t said a single word about Ginny the entire time! Mr. Weasley’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You were expecting me to interrogate you about your relationship with Ginny, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Neville admitted, surprised at his candour.

Mr. Weasley looked at him seriously. “No. I’m not going to insult Ginny’s ability to make decisions. She’s an adult, whatever my wife might think,” he said with a slight grimace. “Honestly, Neville, I invited you here today to get to know you a bit – to find out what sort of man you are. I’m confident you won’t do anything to intentionally hurt my daughter.” The last sentence was said pleasantly enough, but Neville could feel the underlying threat.

Neville knew the interview was over, and he rose to go, thanking his host for lunch. Mr. Weasley rose, and to Neville’s surprise, shook his hand firmly. “Give Molly a couple of weeks to cool down,” said Mr. Weasley, “and then bring Ginny around for Sunday lunch.”

“Thanks,” Neville said, and escaped as quickly as he politely could from the strangest lunch he had ever had.

**********************************

“Lavender’s badgering me to go out with her Friday night, but I told her I had plans with you. We do have plans, don’t we?” Neville had smiled into the phone and agreed to go to a movie with Dean Friday night. Ginny would be coming back then, but Neville thought it might actually be easier if he wasn’t there. Ginny could go straight to bed or do whatever she wanted in the empty flat.

As Neville was penning Ginny a quick note Friday night before the movie, someone started banging on his front door. He hurried to open it. “Dean!” he said, surprised. “I was getting ready to Apparate to London. What are you doing here?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I felt like an idiot in front of Lavender.”

Neville moved aside so Dean could enter, and said, “Why didn’t I tell you what? You should remember that half of what Lavender says is rubbish.”

“Ginny Weasley?” Dean said, looking around.

“She’s not here.”

“But she lives here, doesn’t she?”

Neville sighed. “Yes, Dean, but it’s not what you think.”

“Harry’s girlfriend, a woman with five brothers, the Minister’s daughter… _Are you crazy?”_

“What did Lavender tell you?”

“That Ginny dumped Harry because she was sleeping with you and moved in with you the next day.”

“Oh, Merlin!” Neville felt the blood drain from his face. “Where did she hear that?”

_“Witch Weekly,”_ said Dean. Neville suddenly felt sick. He let himself fall onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. He felt the sofa shift as Dean sat down on the other end. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”

“I haven’t,” Neville said into his hands. He raised his head slightly to look at Dean and said, “I’ve never slept with her at all. I’ve been sleeping in the study.” He quickly told Dean the story of how he had acquired his new roommate, leaving out only the fact that Ginny had tried to seduce him that first night.

When he was finished, Dean stared at him for a long time. “Neville,” he finally said slowly, as if he were trying to decide how to word what he was saying, “you’re a really great person to be doing this, but aren’t you getting a little short changed?”

“Nah,” said Neville with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s not a big deal having her around. I’m actually enjoying sleeping in my study – I can just flop into bed when I’m finished for the night. She’s only going to be here a couple of days a week, and she’s paying part of the rent.”

Dean shook his head firmly. “No,” he said, “that’s not what I mean.” He paused and stared at the wall for a moment, and then turned back to Neville. “If everyone thinks you and Ginny are a couple, you won’t be able to get a date with anyone else. Or if you try to, you’ll be in serious danger of being pounded by the Weasley men.”

“I don’t really care about that,” said Neville. “You know women are only interested in ‘Neville Longbottom the War Hero’. They’re not interested in ‘Neville Longbottom the Boring Herbologist’. And I’m not willing to settle for that. If I happen to find a woman who’s really interested in me,” he said, feeling certain he wouldn’t find one any time soon, “then I’ll rethink the thing with Ginny. Okay?”

“Of course, how are you going to even _meet_ a woman if you have a ‘girlfriend’?” Dean asked, rolling his eyes. “That’s the irony here.”

“I’ll just find a slag that doesn’t care if I have a girlfriend,” Neville countered with a wicked grin.

“Yes, and you like that kind of woman so much,” Dean said in a sarcastic tone.

“What do I need a woman for? I’ve got you to take me to the movies.” Neville batted his eyes at Dean, earning a disgusted glare. “Speaking of, aren’t we going to be late?”

**********************************

“Good morning,” Ginny said in a formal tone as she entered the kitchen Saturday morning. Neville’s bedroom door had been closed when he had got home the night before, and he had assumed she was asleep. Ginny’s bedroom door, he corrected himself. At least for now. He hadn’t been lying to Dean about being content in the study, but he still hoped it would be temporary.

Neville scrambled to his feet and served her a muffin and tea. Their conversation during breakfast was a bit stilted, mainly consisting of their plans for the weekend. Neville thought it seemed as though Ginny was trying to make excuses to be away from him, but found he didn’t mind. He really needed to work on summarizing his research into his theories about the Cruciatus Curse.

After a couple of hours in the Research Centre caring for his plants, he spent the rest of the day comparing his own results regarding the Ginkgo biloba plant with studies he found on the internet. He was a bit startled when his stomach growled, and he looked up at the clock to see that he had completely missed lunchtime, and dinnertime was approaching.

Should he go out, order something in, or cook something? For some reason, he didn’t feel like staying in, and he wondered if he should ask Ginny about her plans.

He finally decided to knock on the door to his bedroom – _her_ bedroom where, if the opening and closing of doors was any indication, she had been for the last few hours. She opened the door and looked at him expectantly, her eyes red and puffy and her long red hair a tangled mess.

“I think I’m going to go out to get a bite to eat,” he said awkwardly, wishing he hadn’t bothered her since she had obviously been crying. “Want to come?”

“I don’t think so, but thanks for asking.” She started to turn around, but Neville felt compelled to speak again.

“I don’t mean like a date, Ginny.”

“I know,” she said, looking into his eyes. “It’s just that I went out to lunch with Hermione and ate way too much pasta. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m too heavy to lift off the ground on Monday. I really need to skip dinner.”

“Okay,” said Neville, and Ginny shut the door. Neville left the flat and began to walk to the pub, but found his feet instead taking him to the market. It would be better for him to cook a healthy meal, he reasoned; if he went to the pub, he would just end up ordering something laden with grease. It wouldn’t be much trouble to grill some chicken breasts and steam some vegetables.

One hour later, he knocked on Ginny’s door again. If possible, her eyes were even redder and puffier than before. “Did you enjoy … wait …” She sniffed the air. “What’s that … did you cook?”

Neville smiled at her confusion. “Yes. Just a light dinner – chicken and vegetables. There’s plenty for you.”

“I’m sorry you went to the trouble, Neville, but I told you – I’m skipping dinner,” she said with a resolved nod of her head. She didn’t close the door, however, and after a moment sniffed the air again. “That smells wonderful!”

“Too bad you’re not hungry,” Neville said with a shrug.

“I never said I wasn’t hungry,” said Ginny, brushing past Neville on her way to the kitchen. Neville grinned and followed her.

“This is delicious,” Ginny said several minutes later. “What did you put on the chicken?”

“Just a bit of oregano, basil, and garlic.”

“Grew it yourself, did you?”

“Not the chicken, no.”

Ginny gave him an odd look, as if she were trying to glare at him, but was too amused.

“Tell me about your new job,” Neville said, honestly curious.

As Ginny told him about the rigors of Quidditch drills, her eyes gradually brightened. It was plain that she loved playing Quidditch, despite her exhaustion, and that it took her mind off Harry. Neville listened carefully and tried to remember the details so he could bring up the topic and discuss it intelligently the next time she seemed despondent.

Neville made tea after they finished eating, and put a sprig of his special plant in his, as always. 

“What’s in your tea?”

He had wondered if Ginny would question him about it, but decided he couldn’t hide it from her forever. “It’s a special cross-breed I created myself. It seems to help me remember things better. I drink tea with it twice every day.”

“Can I try it?”

Neville gave her a long look, gauging her trustworthiness. “I’m not really ready to share this with everyone yet, Ginny.”

“Oh,” she said, looking slightly disappointed. “That’s okay.”

“I think I can tell you about it, though, if you can keep it to yourself.”

Now Ginny looked as though she might burst with curiosity. “What is it, Neville?”

“This plant is a cross between a mandrake and a ginkgo biloba plant. I think, in concentrated form, that it might be able to reverse the long-term effects of the Cruciatus Curse. I’ve been testing it on myself for about eighteen months.”

Neville watched Ginny’s face as that information sunk in. “Your parents …” she said in a whisper.

“I hope so,” he answered softly.

Ginny was silent for a while, staring into her teacup as if it held all wisdom. “Wait,” she finally said, looking up at him, “you said you’ve been testing it on yourself. Surely that one time you were put under the Curse in the Department of Mysteries wouldn’t have caused permanent damage, would it?”

“It didn’t,” Neville said. He swallowed and took a deep breath. “I was there the night my parents were tortured. I spent six months in St. Mungo’s, and the doctors didn’t think I would ever have any magical ability.”

Ginny looked so horrified that Neville wished he hadn’t told her. “They … the Death Eaters … a baby? Oh my God!”

She looked as though she was going to be sick, and Neville hurried to clip a sprig of mint and put it in her tea. “I don’t remember any of it,” he assured her. “When I think about it, it seems like it was a story about some other baby. But, yes, it is a bit sickening that anyone would be capable of that, isn’t it? Such a person can’t be completely human.” Oddly, Neville was always slightly comforted by this chain of thought. He was glad that the person who had done this horrible thing was dead, and he was reassured that Bellatrix Lestrange really didn’t deserve to live. His only concern was the knowledge that he was capable of murder, even if the person had been a monster.

“Obviously,” he continued, “I did have magical ability, though it was always a bit less than normal children. But I also struggled with the other aspects of school. It always took me much longer than anyone else to read the textbooks, and I had trouble organizing my thoughts when writing papers. My memory was abysmal, too, unless it was something I loved, like Herbology or Defence. It’s really amazing I managed to get any N.E.W.T.s at all.”

Ginny seemed to recover a bit during his matter-of-fact explanation. “Is the plant helping you? You seem to be more confident than when we were in school. And your mind seems … I don’t know … sharper.”

“Yes. I’ve been giving myself reading, memory, and IQ tests that I found on the internet every three months. My scores are getting progressively higher, and I am also beginning to see some of my research pay off – the Wolfsbane Potion project, for instance. My magical ability doesn’t seem to have improved at all, but that’s okay. I’m hoping that if I couldn’t give my parents back their magic, at least maybe I could bring them out of their minds into consciousness.”

“Wow, Neville,” Ginny said. “How exciting for you! When are you going to test the plant on your parents?”

“Well, first I have to get someone to concentrate it into a potion for me.”

“Won’t Snape do it?”

“He probably would. I haven’t asked him yet.”

“Why not? You’re not still afraid of him, are you?”

“No,” Neville said with a chuckle, but then he thought seriously about her question. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I think maybe I’m afraid of being wrong. Afraid of building my hopes up about my parents, only to have them dashed.” He paused for a moment, turning over and over in his mind the same thoughts he had had almost every day for a year. “Even worse, what if it were to work for awhile, and they woke up, but then it quit working, and they sank back into insanity again? I don’t think I could handle that.”

Ginny stared at him for a moment, and then looked back into her now empty teacup. “I don’t mean to make light of it,” she said, speaking slowly, “but you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Neville sighed. “You’re right, of course, but I’ll have to work up the nerve.”

They sat in silence for several moments, each lost in their own musings. Finally Ginny stood and stretched. “Well, I think I’m going to bed. I’ve got a long day of running errands tomorrow and I go back to Appleby tomorrow night.” She crossed to where Neville still sat at the table, leaned over, and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner,” she said softly. She turned to leave, but paused and turned back just before she exited the kitchen. “Neville, talk to Snape,” she said, before going to her room and closing the door.

*************************************

“You should have told someone you were doing this, Longbottom,” said Professor Snape, his eyes dancing over Neville’s reports. “It would have served you right if you had poisoned yourself.”

Neville shrugged but remained silent. He hadn’t been so nervous in the presence of the Potions Master since he had been a fifteen-year-old student. Ginny’s words had haunted Neville for several days, and finally he had given in and made an appointment with the Potions Master.

Neville tried not to think that the outcome of this meeting could determine the fate of his parents, and that if Snape refused to test his theory, all his work would have been in vain. _My parents won’t be any worse than they are now if this doesn’t work, he told himself, and if Snape won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will._

“These are impressive results,” Snape said finally, and Neville couldn’t help a sigh of relief. The Potions Master looked up at him with a piercing gaze. “Are you sure they’re not slanted by your – emotions?”

Neville thought about the question for a few moments; there was no point in answering Snape with anything other than a well thought out response. “I will admit that it has been difficult for me to stay emotionally detached from this research,” he said, “but I know you remember my performance as a student in your class, Professor. Would you have ever thought me capable of organizing such a detailed report? And just the other day you seemed to be almost – impressed with my work on the aconite plant.” Neville leaned back in his chair, satisfied with his presentation. He knew the report spoke for itself, and that Snape would have to agree that his mental capacity had been much improved.

Snape stared at the report, eyes unmoving, and Neville suspected that he was pretending to read the parchment while trying to decide what to do. After several long moments, in which Neville began to fear again that he would refuse, Snape said, “Bring me a plant tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: Thanks so much to Swishandflick and Gianfared, who are, of course, the best beta readers ever!  *hugs them*  


* * *

“Don’t be nervous,” Ginny said as they ate breakfast one Sunday morning in October.  “My family’s loud, but harmless.”  


 

Aside from his lunch with Ginny’s father and a drink one night with Ron, Neville hadn’t seen any of Ginny’s family since she had moved in with him.  Neville supposed he should thank Ron for that; he had obviously told his brothers something to keep them from barging into his flat and hexing him silly.  


 

However, Neville knew he couldn’t avoid the Weasleys indefinitely, so when Ginny told him she supposed they should go to Sunday Dinner that day, he had reluctantly agreed.  


 

“I wouldn’t call Fred and George ‘harmless’,” Neville argued.  “They turned me into a canary plenty of times in school.”  Neville wondered what pranks the twins would have in store for him if they were in close proximity and thought he had betrayed Harry.  


 

“You’re not _still_ a canary, are you?” Ginny said with a smirk.  


 

“How am I supposed to act, though?  What did you and Ron tell everyone?”  


 

Ginny looked away as if unwilling to meet his eyes.  “Everyone except Ron and Hermione thinks we’re dating, and they all know I live here.  We were purposefully vague about what really happened, but we tried to give the impression that the relationship didn’t begin until after Harry and I broke up.  Everyone knows Ron would never take your side over Harry’s if you had done anything to betray Harry, so I don’t think anyone will think you did.”  


 

Neville thought about that.  He wasn’t sure if he could pretend to be her boyfriend and show her the physical affection that would be expected.  It wasn’t that she repulsed him, it was just that he didn’t really feel any closer to her than before she had moved in.  At times, Neville actually forgot he had a roommate.  Ginny stayed in Appleby during the week, and when she was home on weekends she was so busy running errands that Neville barely saw her.  The only time they really talked was when he cooked for her once each weekend.  


 

“Will Harry be there?” he asked.  


 

“I don’t think so,” she said with a disappointed frown.  


 

“Have you talked to him?”  


 

“No, not since that day in Draco’s office,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.  “I’ve tried to Floo him, but he’s never home, and he won’t answer my owls.”  She sniffed and held her head up defiantly.  “I wish he was going to be there,” she said.  “You and I could show him what a good snog looks like!”  Neville felt a brief moment of panic, but then he saw Ginny’s mischievous expression.  “Don’t worry,” she said, obviously reading his feelings from his face.  “I wouldn’t really do it.”  


 

Neville wasn’t so sure about that, but he let it go.  


 

One hour before mealtime they Apparated to the Burrow.  They landed beside an imposing white wall broken only by a small gate.  Ginny passed her hand carelessly over the lock and the gate swung open to admit them.  


 

Neville had expected the Minister of Magic to live in an impressive-looking structure, but the Burrow surprised him.  It was a bright yellow two-story house with cheerful curtains and flowers in window boxes.  Neville couldn’t help grinning because he felt as if the house was smiling at him in welcome.  


 

“I like it,” he said, noticing that Ginny was looking at him expectantly.  “It seems to suit your parents.”  


 

“Yeah, it does,” said Ginny, turning to look at the house, her eyes glazing over a little.  “I was devastated when the other house burned down.  We lost so much.  But I have to admit, this one is much nicer to look at.  The first Burrow looked like it would fall over at any minute!”  


 

Neville had almost forgotten that Death Eaters had burnt the Weasley’s house to the ground when Ginny was fifteen, and that one of Ginny’s brothers, Percy, had died in the fire.  An odd feeling stirred in his stomach, it may have been sympathy, and Neville put his hand on Ginny’s shoulder and squeezed.  She gave him a look of surprise, but then smiled and headed toward the house.  


 

The door was wrenched open as Ginny was raising a hand to knock and they found themselves looking down into two pairs of enormous blue eyes.  “Aunt Ginny!” one of the girls squealed.  The other hid herself behind the door, poking her head around so that they could see only one eye and half of her long blonde hair.  The girl who had spoken walked up to Neville and tugged on the leg of his trousers.  “Are you Ginny’s boyfriend?” she asked.  


 

Neville swallowed; he hadn’t known he would have to lie to a child.  “Yes.”  


 

“What’s your name?” she asked.  


 

“Neville Longbottom.”  On a sudden impulse, he squatted down to the girl’s eye level and held out his hand.  “What’s your name?”  


 

“Aimee.”  She put her hand in Neville’s and pumped it once.  “I am very pleased to meet you,” she recited in a formal tone.  Neville thought he detected a trace of a French accent, and looked questioningly at Ginny.  


 

“Bill and Fleur’s,” said Ginny.  


 

“That’s what I thought.”  He reached out a hand toward the other girl.  “And what is your name?”  The other girl looked at his hand for a moment and then looked into his eyes, but remained silent and made no move to touch him.  


 

“Her name’s Aurore,” said Aimee.  “We’re five years old.  We’re twins, which means we were in my mum’s tummy at the same time.  We’re sisters, too.”  


 

“Hi, Aurore,” said Neville, trying to show the more timid girl that he wasn’t a threat.  “Are you two identical like your uncles?”  


 

“No,” said Aimee, ignoring the fact that Neville had asked Aurore and not her.  “We’re fatermal.  We’re not exactly alike.”  


 

“Fater _nal_ ,” Aurore corrected, rolling her eyes.  Neville smiled at her and saw that they were correct about their twin type, if not the pronunciation.  Both girls had blue eyes, but Aurore’s were much darker, and Aimee’s hair had a definite reddish tint while Aurore’s was platinum blonde.  


 

A female voice laced with a French accent called the girls, and Neville straightened up as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen walked to the front door.  “Girls, let them come into the house,” she said in an exasperated tone.  Aimee ran into the house with a little squeal, and Fleur picked up Aurore.  “I am sorry, Ginny,” said Fleur, “and you must be Neville.  Fleur Delacour-Weasley.”  She tried to hold out her hand, but it was awkward with Aurore struggling in her arms.  


 

“It’s okay,” Neville assured her.  “It’s nice to meet you.”  Of course, he remembered her from the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts long ago, but knew she wouldn’t remember him.  


 

Aurore stopped struggling and whispered something in her mother’s ear while shooting curious looks at Neville.  When she had finished, Fleur said, “Ginny, Aurore wants to talk to you.”  Ginny looked a little surprised, but took the girl from her mother and carried her into the house.  “Come in,” Fleur said to Neville.  “I know Bill isn’t planning to hex you, though I can’t speak for everyone else.”  


 

Neville gave a nervous laugh and followed her into the house.  He decided he liked Fleur, despite her beauty, which intimidated him slightly.  It was actually her bluntness and her open, friendly manner which appealed to him.  


 

The front door opened into a massive living room which was tastefully decorated in neutral tones and colourful accents.  Neville got the impression of a room that was welcoming and friendly while still being worthy of the Minister of Magic.  


 

Neville looked nervously at Ginny, who was still deep in conversation with Aurore.  He was nervous about spending time with her family, and he had hoped she would be constantly by his side to diffuse any uncomfortable situations, like…  


 

“Neville!” said Fred (or George?), bounding up to him wearing a grin, but with a predatory look in his eyes.  “Glad to see you mate,” he said in an overly friendly tone.  He threw an arm around Neville’s shoulders and pulled him toward a doorway on the opposite side of the room.  “Have you got a moment for a chat, luv?”  


 

Neville looked helplessly at Ginny, but she had her back to him and apparently hadn’t heard her brother.  He was very grateful when Fleur stepped up and said, “No, he doesn’t, Fred.  I was just taking him to meet Bill.”  


 

Fred looked very disappointed, and Neville couldn’t help wondering if he had been meant to spend the entire visit at the Burrow as a canary or a clown.  Yes, he definitely liked Fleur.  


 

“I’ll catch you later, Neville,” said Fred, letting go of him with obvious reluctance.  


 

“I’ll look forward to it,” said Neville, looking Fred in the eyes, trying to convey that he wasn’t afraid of him despite his trepidation.  Fred looked at him with an expression that might have included approval before he turned and stalked out of the room.  


 

Neville followed Fleur into the kitchen, which was also a huge room; the living room and the kitchen obviously encompassed the entire ground floor.  A long table dominated one end of the kitchen and the other was crowded with what appeared to be every Muggle appliance in existence.  Mrs. Weasley was stirring something on the stove and Hermione was cleaning vegetables at the sink.  


 

“You must be Neville,” said a man who could only be Bill; he pushed Aimee out of his lap and rose awkwardly from the chair at the end of the table where he had been sitting.  “I’ve heard all about you from my informant.”  He nodded toward the little girl standing beside him and held out a hand to Neville.  


 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Neville, taking Bill’s hand and shaking it firmly.  


 

“See – I told you he was nice, Daddy!” said Aimee, and Neville couldn’t help grinning at her gratefully.  


 

“Hi, Neville,” said Hermione as she gave him a warm hug, despite her ever-growing belly.  Neville was touched by the embrace, and he hoped that he would get a chance to tell her how much her gesture of acceptance meant to him, especially since she was one of Harry’s closest friends.  


 

“Hermione,” called Mrs. Weasley from the other end of the kitchen, “you go sit down and make yourself comfortable.  I can finish this.”  


 

“Nonsense.  I’m fine.  No need to spoil him before he’s born,” said Hermione, patting her stomach.  


 

“Can I do it for you, Hermione?” Neville asked eagerly.  It had occurred to him that he might be able to avoid whatever Fred and George had in store for him if he was occupied under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Weasley.  


 

Neville gave Hermione a pleading look, which she apparently understood.  “I think I might go sit down after all,” she said.  “Ginny says Neville’s a wonderful cook, Mrs. Weasley.”  She turned back to Neville and said, “I had just finished washing the vegetables and was ready to chop them.”  Then she whispered something to Aimee (bending to reach her ear with a bit of trouble) and left the room hand in hand with the girl.  


 

Mrs. Weasley gave him an unreadable look as he walked over to the sink and picked up the long knife.  “I can manage myself, Neville.  You go and have fun with the other young people.”  Neville got the impression that she said this only half-heartedly, however; he suspected that Mrs. Weasley would welcome the opportunity to interrogate him, but Ginny’s mother was a far better prospect than Fred and George.  


 

“I like to cook,” said Neville truthfully.  “And if I help you, we’ll all get to eat sooner.”  Thankfully, she didn’t protest again, and Neville took up the knife and began expertly slicing cucumbers.  


 

Mrs. Weasley watched him like a hawk for several minutes, and Neville felt as though he were a student back in Snape’s Potions classroom.  He hoped he didn’t blow something up, or cut his finger off, or something worse.  Finally, he felt her gaze shift away from him, and he looked up furtively to see that she had turned back to the stove, presumably because she realized that he wasn’t going to mangle the vegetables too badly.  


 

As he relaxed into the repetitive movements of the knife, his thoughts drifted to the remark Hermione had made about his cooking.  Hermione didn’t know he could cook.  Hermione had said … Ginny had told her he was a wonderful cook!  That was interesting.  Neville had thought Ginny was only being nice when she complemented him on the dinner he made for her every Saturday.  He tried to suppress the light, airy feeling that began to grow in his chest (it was only cooking after all!) but he couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face.  


 

“Oh, here you are,” said Ginny as she walked into the room, her eyes filled with relief when she spotted Neville.  “Hi, Mum,” she said, and kissed her mother on the cheek.  Then she walked over to Neville, put her lips close to his ear, and said, “It would be best if you could avoid being alone with Fred and George.”  


 

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he whispered back as he scooped the cucumbers into a bowl.  


 

She leaned in a little closer, presumably for more privacy, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Neville to rest a hand on the small of her back.  “Aurore told me they’re planning to turn your hair red, or some such nonsense.”  He grinned at her, but then she suddenly seemed to realize where his hand was resting, and stiffened.  Startled, he removed his hand quickly, but she recovered almost immediately and gave him a resigned look, as if to say, “Of course, you’re supposed to be my boyfriend,” and leaned over to brush his cheek with her lips.  


 

“No snogging in the kitchen,” said George (or Fred?) as he came in through the back door.  


 

“We weren’t!” Neville insisted without thinking.  


 

“Why not?” said Bill.  “I’d like to see a good bit of snogging.”  


 

“Leave them alone, Bill,” said Mrs. Weasley in a scandalized tone.  


 

“It’s just not the same after being married six years,” he said, his eyes on Fleur as she ran through the room, presumably chasing one of the young girls.  As she passed, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, wrestling her down on his lap.  She seemed to put up very little resistance, and gazed adoringly into Bill’s eyes as he said, “Yeah, the snogging really slows down after six years.”  


 

“It better not,” said Fleur and she gently kissed her husband on the lips.  


 

Bill growled and pulled Fleur into a kiss that was arguably inappropriate in public.  Apparently, George agreed because he said, “We don’t need to see that!  Get a room!”  


 

“Should we follow his advice, love?” Bill asked, waggling his eyebrows at Fleur.  “This family needs another set of twins, doesn’t it?”  Fleur blushed to the roots of her hair and struggled out of Bill’s embrace, but she leaned over and whispered something into his ear that made his smile widen before she left the room.  


 

“Well, can you two top that?” said George, looking at Neville and Ginny in open challenge.  To Neville’s surprise, Mrs. Weasley was silent; she must be wondering how they would behave.  


 

“Ginny and I like to keep that sort of thing private,” Neville said, having thought of the answer to the question of physical affection before they had left his flat.  It was perfectly true; the fact that their relationship wasn’t of that nature was a private matter.  Ginny, who was facing away from her brothers, gave Neville a grateful smile.  


 

“Neville!” said Mr. Weasley as he entered the kitchen.  He extended his hand to Neville, and Neville shifted away from Ginny to shake it.  “I talked to Remus yesterday, and he said this last transformation was even easier than September’s.”  


 

“Yes, I heard,” said Neville.  “I’m very pleased with our progress.  We would like to begin testing the potion on other werewolves early next year.  We would especially like to find out if magical background makes a difference in the effectiveness.”  


 

“Hmmm…” Mr. Weasley said, nodding.  “Remus had one magical parent, I believe, so you would want to test it on purebloods and Muggles.  I’ll look into it.”  


 

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” said Neville sincerely.  He hadn’t meant to ask for help; he just couldn’t help being excited that his research was paying off.  He had to admit that it could be beneficial dating the Minister’s daughter.  


 

“Wait a minute,” said Ginny, “there are Muggle werewolves?”  


 

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Mr. Weasley with a frown.  “They usually die from the initial bite, but a few survive.  They, of course, need more help than a wizard, but they usually get the least amount of support.”  


 

“Neville,” said Mrs. Weasley, “what made you decide to do research on the aconite plant?”  


 

“I’ve been interested in cross-breeding magical and non-magical plants since I was an apprentice.  I was visiting Remus with …” he had started to mention Harry, but caught himself just in time, and tried not to wince.  “I was visiting Remus and Petunia one day a couple of years ago and got the idea while we were talking.”  He could have gone on to tell them how Remus had expressed confidence in his abilities, even from the beginning, and how much that faith meant to him, but he had learned that people tended to get glassy-eyed when he talked too long about his work.  


 

“But why did you keep doing it on your own when the Ministry shut you down?” Mrs. Weasley asked.  


 

Neville shrugged.  “I guess I didn’t want to let Remus down.  He was the first teacher at Hogwarts who openly expressed confidence in my abilities, not to mention that he was showing a lot of faith in me when he agreed to test the modified Wolfsbane Potion.”  He paused, and decided that in this case it might be best to be completely honest.  “Part of it was that I just wanted to see if I could do it, of course.”  


 

Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned back to her cooking, but Neville thought he caught a look of approval in her eyes.  Ginny smiled at him gratefully, and Neville returned her smile, but he hoped she realized he was being sincere and not just trying to impress her parents.  


 

“Come on, Neville – let Ginny finish the vegetables,” said Mr. Weasley.  “I want to show you my collection.”  


 

Neville felt torn.  He wasn’t sure what the “collection” was, but he could see that it would please Mr. Weasley to show it to him; however, he didn’t want to risk displeasing Ginny or Mrs. Weasley by leaving them to the cooking.  


 

“Go ahead, Neville,” said Ginny, taking the knife from him with a smirk.  “I’d rather risk cutting my fingers off than have to suffer through the ‘collection’ again.”  Neville was a bit shocked at Ginny’s seemingly harsh words, but her eyes were soft and teasing.  


 

“Scoff if you like,” said Mr. Weasley, obviously not offended, “but I got elected to my office on a platform of cooperation with the Muggle world.  My ‘collection’ that you are insulting is what made me what I am today!”  


 

Ginny smiled affectionately.  “What you are today, and always will be, is my eccentric father.”  She put the knife down, reached over Neville, and kissed her father on the cheek.  Neville felt a slight pang of sadness as father and daughter gazed at each other adoringly for a brief moment; he longed for a loving relationship, any kind of relationship, with his own parents.  


 

“You can show Neville your toys after dinner, Arthur,” said Molly.  “We’re almost ready.  George, set the table.”  


 

Neville had forgotten George was still in the room.  He had apparently been listening silently to the conversation, and was now giving Neville an appraising look that was surprisingly not unpleasant.  George pulled plates out of a cupboard, walked over to Neville, handed him half the stack, and said, “You’re good with plants, are you?”  


 

“That seems to be the consensus,” said Neville, raising an eyebrow and following him to the table.  


 

“Fred and I are trying to develop a product that causes a person to breathe fire, but everything we’ve tried so far causes nasty burns in the mouth.  Any ideas?”  


 

“Have you tried aloe vera?” Neville asked.  


 

“Never heard of it.”  


 

“Muggle plant.  Really should be tried in more potions – it has many healing properties.  You can buy a plant at almost any Muggle greenhouse, or I think I could spare one of mine.”  


 

Neville continued to chat with George about the properties of certain plants and their potential use in products for the Weasley twins’ store as they set the table.  George sat next to him at dinner and they continued the discussion as they ate.  Fred sat across from them and glared at George at first, but apparently came to realize that Neville could actually benefit their business, so eventually his expression softened and he joined in the conversation.  


 

“Don’t encourage them, Neville,” said Angelina, who was sitting next to Fred.  


 

“Yeah,” said Alicia from George’s other side, “we’ve warned them that if they lose any body parts to their ‘research’ we won’t go out with them any more, but they don’t listen.”  


 

It was apparent that the two women were just joking, however; their eyes twinkled as they batted at their boyfriends playfully.  It was interesting to Neville that identical twins would choose women who looked so different; Angelina was tall and dark while Alicia was petite and pale.  


 

After dinner a make-shift Quidditch match was formed.  Neville watched as Ginny kicked off from the ground and soared into the air, her hair flickering behind her like flames.  She moved gracefully through the air as if she was weightless, but it was the expression of absolute bliss on her face that made him catch his breath.  He had never seen Ginny look so happy, and he immediately revised his opinion that Fleur was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  


 

“We really appreciate all you’ve done for her, Neville,” said Hermione, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she was standing right next to him.  


 

Neville felt his face getting hot, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.  “Nah, it’s not a big deal,” he finally said.  


 

“But it is,” Hermione insisted.  “You’re really making this easier for her.”  


 

Neville had nothing to say to that, so they watched in silence for a few minutes.  His thoughts turned to Harry, and he couldn’t help thinking that it seemed wrong for him not to be there with the family he loved so much, especially when they were playing Quidditch.  “Do you think Harry will come back to her?” he asked before he really thought about it, and was immediately horrified with himself for voicing his thought.  


 

Hermione, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by the question and appeared to consider it seriously.  “No, I don’t,” she finally said with a sigh.  “Harry’s very confused right now, and I don’t think this is something that’s going to fix itself.”  


 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Neville as something like a physical pain stabbed through his heart.  He turned to watch Ginny play.  “Ginny still loves him.”  


 

“I know,” said Hermione.  She was silent for a few moments, and Neville turned to look at her, finding her examining his face closely.  “You know,” she said, “for the first time since this whole mess began, I think it might all end up okay.”  


 

Neville wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but Aimee ran up, demanding Hermione’s attention, and he forgot all about it later.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Author's notes:

Thanks to Swishandflick and Bryony Raven for the beta reads!

* * *

A Quiet Life  
By Cindale  
Chapter 6  


 

 

Neville had arrived a bit early for his interview with Professor Snape.  He didn’t want to appear flustered and hurried, and it gave him an excuse to chat briefly with Professor Sprout, who had been his favourite teacher when he had been in school.  


 

Now, as he walked across the entrance hall, he couldn’t help thinking how much smaller everything seemed to be.  Neville wasn’t a tall man, but he felt like he towered over the few students he passed, and he was certain the ceiling had been much higher when he had been eleven years old.  


 

“Hello, Mr. Longbottom.  What brings you to Hogwarts?”  Headmaster McGonagall’s stance was as severe as ever, but her eyes held a warmth that Neville didn’t remember from his days as a student.  


 

“I have a meeting with Professor Snape,” he said, taking her outstretched hand and pumping it once.  “It’s good to see you, Professor.”  She nodded to him and continued to the Great Hall, presumably for dinner.  


 

As he descended the steps to the dungeons, Neville realized it was McGonagall’s sixth year as headmaster, and he marvelled that so many years had passed since Dumbledore’s death.  Not long after Neville’s seventh year, the ancient headmaster had died peacefully in his sleep as if his work on earth was finished.  


 

Neville knocked on the door to Snape’s office and entered when bidden, trying to swallow his nervousness.  


 

“I’m hungry,” said Snape, “so I’ll get right to the point.”  He held a small vial in front of his face with his thumb and forefinger.  “I believe I may hold a cure for your parents in my hand,” he said, and Neville had to make an extreme effort to contain his joy.  


 

“What makes you say that?” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady.  


 

The Potions Master’s eyes narrowed in anger.  “You asked me for a favour and now you have the gall to question me?”  


 

“No,” Neville rejoined without missing a beat.  “Most scientists love to expound on their own brilliance.  I assumed you’d be no exception.”  


 

Snape gazed at him for a moment, looking as if he wanted badly to smile but was controlling himself.  “This is the essence of your plant.  It is extremely concentrated.  An adult dose is two drops, two times per day.  Do not give anyone more than four drops per day.  Do not give it to anyone who has not suffered damage from the Cruciatus Curse.  I will need another plant to make more.  Do you understand?”  


 

Neville took the vial from his hand and peered at the amber-coloured liquid, going over the instructions in his mind.  It seemed simple enough.  “Yes.”  He looked the Potions Master in the eye and said, “Thank you, Professor Snape.”  


 

The professor only rolled his eyes and stalked out of his office.  Neville carefully pocketed the precious vial and followed, his heart singing with joy.  


 

*****************************  


 

Neville’s happiness was short-lived, however.  “I’m sorry – I don’t make it my practice to entertain treatment ideas from family members,” said Healer Maddox.  Neville had Apparated to St. Mungo’s as soon as he had passed through the gates of Hogwarts.  The normally gentle Healer had been attending to Neville’s parents since they had first been injured with the curse, and had been his Healer as well, though Neville didn’t remember that.  However, he apparently took Neville’s suggestion as a challenge to his authority, and Neville was seeing a very different side to the man’s personality.  


 

“But Healer Maddox, they’re my parents.  Nothing you’ve tried has helped, and I’ve been working on this for almost two years.”  


 

_“ _You’ve__ been working on it?”  The Healer’s tone was still condescending.  “I know the challenges you faced in school, and it’s remarkable that you were able to survive for seven years and then land an apprenticeship with a Herbology Master, but I can’t believe you’re capable …”  


 

“Professor Snape, the Potions Master, concentrated it into a potion for me.  He believes it will work.”  


 

“You expect me to believe a Death Eater has been helping you with a _cure_ for someone he helped put here?” asked the Healer, his voice becoming hard.  


 

Neville’s frustration had been steadily growing throughout the interview, but his anger flared at the insult to Snape.  _“ _Professor__ Snape risked his life to help our side during the war!” he spat, rising to his feet.  “He’s recognized by everyone as an expert potions-maker, not to mention the fact that he’s been teaching children at Hogwarts for over twenty years.”  He glowered at the Healer for a few seconds, and then wrenched open the door of his office.  “This isn’t over,” he said as he stalked out of the office.  The irony that he had defended the man who had made his life so miserable as a child didn’t strike Neville until later, and he would have laughed at himself if he hadn’t been so depressed at the outcome of the interview.  


 

***********************************  


 

The first Sunday in November brought the Appleby Arrows’ first match of the season.  Neville dressed in blue and joined the Weasleys in the best box in the stadium, where he was grateful to see they had saved him a seat in the front row.  As he looked around him he got the impression of flaming water; most of the people in the very full box had red hair and blue jumpers.  A head of messy black hair stood out among the red, and Neville was surprised when Harry greeted him as he was making his way to his seat.  


 

“It’s been too long since we’ve had a drink together, mate,” Harry said quietly, further surprising Neville.  


 

Neville felt unsure, but then he looked into Harry’s eyes and saw his uncertainty reflected.  “Yes,” Neville said, forcing a smile.  “Ring me up sometime, Harry.”  


 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to sit with Harry during the game; he wasn’t certain he could have made conversation with him for that long.  He ended up between Fred and George and didn’t have to talk at all since the twins were so obsessed with the match.  Neville enjoyed the competition, but was extremely disappointed that he never got to see Ginny fly in the pale blue robes that suited her so well.  When the Appleby Seeker grabbed the Snitch just ahead of Ballycastle’s only an hour into the match, Neville shouted just as loudly as the rest of the box.  He found himself propelled down the stairs with the gleeful crowd who stopped to wait outside the changing rooms.  


 

When Ginny came out, still dressed in her robes, her eyes scanned the group, lit on someone to the right of Neville, and clouded a little.  Then she walked straight up to Neville amid the congratulations and pats on the back from her family and threw her arms around him, almost knocking him over.  


 

“We won!” she shouted in his face and embraced him again.  Neville couldn’t help smiling at her jubilation.  


 

“Hey,” said George, “I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing in public.”  


 

Neville and Ginny both turned to look at him with their arms still wrapped around each other, and the pop of a magical flashbulb caused them both to jump.  “Damn!” whispered Ginny.  “I’ll bet that’ll be in the paper tomorrow.”  


 

“A picture with your family, Minister?” shouted the photographer.  “Our readers would love to see a picture of the Minister in Appleby colours, supporting his daughter.”  Neville was impressed to see how Mr. Weasley pleasantly declined the photographer’s request as he and Ginny escaped to the team’s celebration.  


 

Neville was extremely glad that Ginny didn’t want to stay long at the party; he was chatted up by a couple of her team mates once they found out his name and he almost resorted to blathering on about his research to purposefully make them lose interest.  


 

Ginny was right about their embrace being captured on the front cover of the _Daily Prophet_ the next day.  The caption read, “Minister’s Daughter Dates Yet Another War Hero.”  Neville mentally braced himself before reading the article:  


 

__Ginevra Weasley, daughter of the Minister of Magic and reserve Chaser for the Appleby Arrows, apparently has a taste for war heroes.  She is pictured here with her boyfriend, Neville Longbottom, with whom she has been living for several weeks.  Longbottom is one of the remaining “Gryffindor Three” who defended Hogwarts castle during the final battle of the war.  
 ____

 

_____Miss Weasley only recently had a bitter break up with Harry Potter, vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, whom she had dated for over six years.  One has to wonder if Miss Weasley will ever find a man who is famous enough for her.  
_ _ _

 

“What does it say?” asked Ginny from across the kitchen table.  “I’m afraid to look.”  


 

“It’s horrible, as usual,” said Neville.  “Harry got _Witch Weekly_ to retract their article,” he said thoughtfully.  “Maybe I could have a talk with the __Prophet.__.  What do you think?”  


 

“I don’t think they’d listen to you,” Ginny said, looking at him seriously.  “Harry’s … Harry’s Harry Potter, for heaven’s sake.”  She looked down at her tea quickly, but Neville saw the tears in her eyes.  


 

“You wish you were still with him,” Neville said, feeling an odd burning sensation in his chest.  


 

“Yes,” said Ginny, staring into her teacup as if trying to read the dregs.  “But I shouldn’t wish that.  It’s just that I was Harry’s girlfriend for so long that I hardly know who I am without him.”  She looked up at Neville, her eyes begging him to understand.  “At this point, I don’t hold out any hope that he’s ever going to come back to me, and I think I’ll always love him.  Now it’s not so much about trying not to love him as it is trying to find out who I am on my own.”  


 

Neville nodded, hoping he was conveying empathy.  He wanted to tell her that she was talented, intelligent, beautiful, and much more, but he was afraid it would sound either silly or insincere.  


 

Ginny rose from her chair and carried her teacup to the sink.  “I’d better get going – I’m meeting Hermione at Noon and I have a million things to do before then.”  She paused just before she left the kitchen and gave him a tiny smile.  “Thanks, Neville.”  


 

*******************************************  


 

Neville had intended to present all of his research to Healer Maddox after he had given himself a couple of days to calm down.  If the Healer still wouldn’t listen, Neville was considering sneaking into the hospital twice every day to give his parents the potion.  He had already made a few discreet inquiries and found out that Harry had an invisibility cloak, though he wasn’t sure he was in any position to ask Harry for a favour.  


 

When he told Snape about his first interview with the Healer, however, Snape insisted on speaking with Maddox himself.  Neville was surprised by Snape’s passion for the project, but supposed the Potions Master didn’t want to see his hard work discarded.  


 

“I see that the subject has had almost daily tremors as a result of repeated exposure to the Cruciatus Curse,” said Healer Maddox, his eyes flickering over a roll of parchment Snape had given him when he and Neville had entered the office.  Healer Maddox had seemed surprised and a bit intimidated to see the Potions Master, and Neville sincerely hoped that would work to his advantage.  


 

“Other remedies for the tremors are only temporary, and have unpleasant side effects, such as nausea,” the Healer continued.  “However, the subject has been ingesting this potion regularly for a fortnight and has had no tremors for eight days, and no side effects.”  He rolled up the parchment and handed it back to Snape.  “This is impressive, but it doesn’t address the long term effects of the potion.  In addition, I could have you arrested for conducting such tests without approval from the Ministry, couldn’t I?”  


 

“No,” said Snape.  


 

“You expect me to believe the Ministry approved this research?” Healer Maddox asked with narrowed eyes.  


 

“No.  You can’t have me arrested because I have only tested the potion on myself, which is not illegal.”  


 

Neville stared at Snape in shock for a moment before realizing he shouldn’t be surprised.  Voldemort would not have been kind to his followers, especially one who had turned against him during the first war.  He wondered how long Snape had been hiding the tremors from his students, and how much the side effects from the remedies had contributed to his sour personality.  


 

“You haven’t addressed the question of long term effects,” the Healer pointed out sharply.  


 

“I’ve been ingesting the substance daily for over eighteen months,” said Neville.  “The only effects I have had are improved memory and cognitive skills.”  He held out another roll of parchment, which the Healer took from him and perused somewhat reluctantly.  


 

“You prepared this report yourself?” Maddox asked in a sceptical tone.  


 

“Yes,” said Neville, looking the Healer straight in the eye.  


 

“I have to admit I was sceptical at first,” Snape nodded.  “After all, Longbottom’s performance in my class was abysmal, at best.  However, I am forced to acknowledge that his mind has improved, and coupled with the results of my own testing, I am convinced that this substance will not harm the Longbottoms and could actually improve their condition.”  


 

Healer Maddox stared at the report for a long time, but his eyes weren’t moving, and Neville assumed he was trying to decide what to do.  Finally he said, “No, I can’t allow you to experiment on my patients.  You’ve only tested this on two individuals, both relatively healthy.  There is no way to know how a subject in the Longbottoms’ condition will react.”  


 

“How could they possibly be worse off than they are now?” Neville exclaimed, a bubble of anger filling his chest.  He started to rise from his chair and was surprised to feel the Potions Master’s restraining hand on his arm.  


 

“After twenty-two years, I believe it is safe to say that traditional therapies are not effective in this case, Healer Maddox,” said Snape in a calm voice, but Neville noticed his eyes were glittering with anger.  “If you are not willing to try something different, then Neville will have no choice but to remove his parents from St. Mungo’s.”  


 

“You can’t do that!” said the Healer, giving Neville a pleading look.  Neville struggled to keep his expression neutral, but he was shocked at what Snape had said.  He hoped the Potions Master was only bluffing; he had no idea where he would take his parents if he was forced to move them.  


 

“I assure you he can,” said Snape, his mouth curling up into a partial smirk and his eyes glimmering with triumph.  “As closest relative, Neville is his parents’ legal guardian.”  


 

The Healer’s face turned red with anger and his eyes went to the parchment again, as if he were buying time.  Finally Snape rose from his seat and shot Neville a look that demanded he do the same.  “Neville will contact his solicitor to draw up the papers.  You will be hearing from him soon.”  


 

“No!” said Healer Maddox.  “That will not be necessary.  I will administer the potion.”  He glared at Snape, but the Potions Master only broadened his smirk slightly.  


 

“Excellent,” Snape said, and he turned and left the room.  


 

The Healer turned his glare to Neville, but Neville stood his ground.  “I appreciate this,” Neville said quietly.  


 

“It appears I have no choice,” the Healer said in a bitter tone.  


 

“You won’t regret it,” said Neville.  


 

Maddox rolled his eyes and turned away, conveying his dismissal.  Neville hurried out of the office to catch up with Snape, who was already halfway down the corridor.  


 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Neville.  


 

“Don’t,” Snape barked.  “I felt slightly indebted to you for introducing me to the substance.  Now I do not.”  


 

“I don’t have a solicitor, you know.”  


 

Snape stopped and turned to him.  “That hadn’t even occurred to you, had it?  You never realized you had the option to take them someplace else.”  


 

“Where would I have taken them?”  


 

The Potions Master gave Neville a long, unreadable look.  Finally he said, “You have a lot to learn, Longbottom.  It was clear you had the advantage in this negotiation, you only needed to press it.  Do not forget my little trick – you may find yourself needing it once more, and I have no intention of helping you again.”  With that he turned and disappeared down the corridor.  


 

*****************************  


 

“I want to get home early tonight,” Neville told Dean.  “Ginny will be home later.”  


 

“Ginny who?” Dean asked in mock surprise, idly watching the barman chill glasses with his wand as they waited at the bar for Harry.  “The Ginny who’s __only__ your roommate?  The Ginny you’re only __pretending__ to date?”  Dean leaned in closer to Neville, presumably to ensure only Neville could hear him.  “The Ginny you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with?”  


 

Neville jerked away from Dean in surprise.  “What are you talking about?” he demanded.  


 

“You’ve got it bad, mate.”  Neville shook his head in protest, but Dean ignored him.  “Does she love you?”  


 

“No,” Neville said with a sigh of regret.  “She still loves Harry, which is why I _can’t_ love her.”  


 

“Don’t use the word ‘can’t’, Neville.  I assure you you’re perfectly capable of loving her.”  


 

Neville was saved from this extremely uncomfortable conversation by the arrival of Harry, who was followed by …  


 

“Wotcher, Harry, Draco,” said Dean as Neville groaned and shook his head at his drink.  It was bad enough that he had agreed to meet Harry this evening; he didn’t think he could deal with Malfoy as well.  Then he remembered that he had talked Dean into coming with him to act as a conversation buffer, and couldn’t help wondering if Harry had done the same thing.  


 

The four men ordered drinks and then found a table.  Dean chatted lightly with Harry while Neville wondered what topic he could raise that wouldn’t make the situation even more uncomfortable than it already was.  Finally he remembered something that he had been wondering about for weeks, but kept forgetting to ask.  


 

“Malfoy,” he said quietly, unwilling to disturb Dean and Harry’s conversation and risk reminding Harry about Ginny’s first night away from him, “did you ever find out who killed Thurston Nott?”  


 

“No,” said Malfoy with a blank expression that Neville presumed was specially tailored to reveal nothing.  “Everyone who works at the research facility had an alibi that checked out, and the poison the killer used was very common.  It could have been almost anyone.”  


 

Neville couldn’t believe any of his co-workers could have killed anyone, but stranger things had happened.  In his curiosity, he forgot to wonder why Malfoy was actually being civil to him.  “But if it’s not anyone at the research centre, why was the body there?”  


 

“That’s the thousand Galleon question, Longbottom.  If we knew that, we would probably know who the killer was.”  


 

Neville opened his mouth to ask another question, but Dean said something that caught his attention.  


 

“So, who’s this mysterious woman you’re going out with, Harry?” Dean asked.  


 

“Who says there’s a woman?” Harry said, looking down at his drink, but Neville saw the pink stain on his cheeks.  


 

“You did,” said Neville in a low voice, “when you broke it off with Ginny.”  


 

“You haven’t told them, Harry?” asked Malfoy, looking at Harry with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.  


 

“No, and I haven’t even told Ron and Hermione, so keep your gob shut, Draco!”  


 

Malfoy shook his head and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, but said nothing.  Neville gaped at the two men sitting across from him.  What was Harry hiding, and why did Malfoy know about it when Harry’s closest friends didn’t?  He ignored the fact that Malfoy was also one of Harry’s closest friends because that had never seemed quite right to him, despite the fact they had now been friends as long as they had been enemies.  


 

“Okay, look,” said Harry with a resigned expression, glancing at Dean before locking eyes with Neville.  “I’m seeing someone, but I really want to keep it to myself for now.  Draco here found out quite by accident, and he’s been sworn to secrecy.”  


 

“I have?” Draco asked with a mock innocent expression.  “Hmmm…” he said, rubbing his hands together as his expression became devious.  “This is a _very_ interesting situation …”  


 

“I know plenty of secrets about you – you prat,” said Harry, glaring at Malfoy.  


 

“Blackmail will get you everywhere,” said Malfoy bitterly.  


 

A disruption near the bar suddenly diverted their attention.  Several people screamed and Neville could hear a deep male voice shouting, “NO OWLS!  NO OWLS!”  


 

The tiny owl in question successfully avoided capture and came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, twittering madly.  


 

“It’s Pig,” Harry said unnecessarily, going pale.  They were all very familiar with Ron’s overenthusiastic owl.  He pulled a small scroll off the owl’s leg, unrolled it, and showed it to Neville, Dean, and Malfoy.  There were two words written on it:  _It’s time!  
_ __

 

__“I’ve got to go,” said Harry as he stood.  He rolled the parchment and reattached it to Pig’s leg.  “Take this to Fred and George, Pig.  Thanks.”  The owl took off and managed to make it back through the door without getting hit by the barman’s broom.  


 

“The baby?” asked Neville.  


 

“Yes,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair and turning to go.  


 

“Wait, Harry,” said Neville, and Harry turned back.  “What about Ginny?”  


 

“Fred and George are supposed to owl all the family,” said Harry.  


 

“Yes, but they may miss her in Appleby.  I’ll go home and wait for her.”  


 

“Okay.  Thanks Neville.”  As he turned toward the bar he said, “I’d better placate the bartender before I go.”  


 

“I’ll take care of that, Harry,” said Malfoy.  “Just go.”  


 

Harry nodded once at Malfoy and Disapparated, and Malfoy hurried over to the bar.  


 

“That was actually going fairly well,” said Dean, looking surprised.  


 

“Yeah,” said Neville.  “I think Harry and I might actually be able to get along, not to mention the fact that I had a civil conversation with Draco Malfoy.”  


 

“Malfoy’s not so bad any more,” said Dean with a thoughtful expression.  “I think he’s mellowing in his old age.  I can’t remember the last time he called me a Mudblood.”  


 

Neville shrugged, having nothing to say to that.  He took one last sip of his drink and said, “Well, I’d better go home and make sure Ginny hears about the baby.”  


 

“Owl me when the sprog gets here,” called Dean as Neville hurried toward the door.  


 

He Apparated directly to his living room and looked around anxiously.  Ginny’s bedroom door and the bathroom door were both shut, and he could hear water running, presumably the shower.  He paced the living room anxiously until the water ceased, and then he knocked on the bathroom door.  


 

“Ginny?”  


 

She opened the door, clutching a towel around her.  “Hi, Neville,” she said.  “What’s up?”  


 

Neville completely forgot what he needed to tell her.  He was transfixed by a drop of water that ran down her cheek from her hair, dropped onto her shoulder, and then ran down her chest until it disappeared under her towel.  He continued the journey of the drop in his mind, imagining it caressing her breast and continuing downward to pool in her navel.  When enough drops had accumulated in her navel, they would spill over and continue downward until they touched …  


 

“Neville?” said Ginny, startling him out of his thoughts.  He felt a blush creep over his face and one of Ginny’s eyebrows went up.  “I’ll just get some clothes on,” she said, stepping back and closing the door.  


 

The click of the door seemed to jar Neville enough to remember.  “Ginny, the baby’s coming!”  


 

“Now?” she called from inside the bathroom.  “But Fred and George were supposed to let me know!”  


 

“I was out having a drink with Harry when he got the owl from Ron,” Neville explained.  


 

“Yeah, okay – Ron was supposed to Floo our parents while Hermione rang hers, and then they were supposed to owl Harry just before leaving for St. Mungo’s.  Harry was supposed to send the owl on to Fred and George, who had a list of people to notify.”  


 

“Very organized.”  


 

“Well, it __is__ Hermione,” said Ginny.  She emerged from the bathroom fully dressed and towelling her hair.  “Wait a minute – you were having a drink with Harry?”  


 

“Yeah – he rang me earlier.  Dean and Malfoy were there, too.”  


 

“Really?” Ginny said, her eyes widening with surprise.  “I’ll bet that was interesting.”  


 

“It was actually going well before we got interrupted.”  


 

She shook her head at him and rolled her eyes.  “I’ll never understand how men can do that.”  She fished her wand out of her pocket, banished her towel to the bathroom, where it hung itself neatly on the rack, and cast a drying charm on her hair.  “Let’s go,” she said, raising her wand to Apparate.  


 

“Wait,” said Neville, “you want me to go?”  He looked into her eyes, searching for something he knew he would never see, but found only uncertainty.  


 

“Unless you don’t want to go,” she said, her gaze boring into him as if looking for the answer to a question.  He looked at his shoes, afraid of what his eyes might reveal.  


 

“I-I just thought … I thought I might be … in the way.”  


 

“Nonsense,” said Ginny.  “Remember who my father is?  We’ll probably have a huge, private waiting room.”  She paused, and Neville looked at her; her eyes were still uncertain.  “I want you to come, Neville,” she in a voice that was almost a whisper.  


 

That was enough for Neville.  He would never dream of refusing to do anything Ginny wanted.   


 

They Apparated together to a point just outside of St. Mungo’s.  As soon as they walked in the door, they were recognized by a young witch (presumably because of Ginny’s red hair) and escorted to a room with a grumpy-looking witch and a bored-looking wizard stationed outside the door.  The room was already full.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were deep in conversation with a couple Neville didn’t know; judging from their age and clothing he guessed they were Hermione’s parents.  Harry was pacing the other end of the room, and Bill was talking to one of the twins.  


 

The other twin hurried up to Neville and Ginny.  Ginny asked, “How is she?” before he could speak.  


 

“Seems to be doing okay so far.  Ron’s back there with her.”  George (or Fred?) smiled at him, but Neville was beginning to feel odd.  Everyone in the room was family except him; even Harry was considered family, and he was also to be the baby’s godfather.  He felt like an outsider, as if he shouldn’t be intruding on this family moment.  


 

Neville followed Ginny to a small sofa and sat next to her.  She flashed him a nervous smile and he was heartened.  Ginny wanted him there, and that was all that mattered.  


 

A few minutes later, Angelina and Alicia burst into the room with a tray full of tea, and Neville reckoned it was acceptable for him to be there after all since the twins’ girlfriends weren’t technically “family” either.  The two woman handed tea all around, and the atmosphere in the room became more relaxed and celebratory.  


 

“Better settle in, mates,” Alicia said to Neville and Ginny.  “We may be here awhile.  Babies can take hours to get here.”  


 

“Quite right,” said Mrs. Weasley.  “Charlie took twenty-seven hours!”  


 

“Really?” said Mrs. Granger.  “You’ve got me beat.  Hermione only took twenty-three.”  


 

Neville tried to tune out the women’s discussion of childbirth, which got progressively more graphic.  He sat beside Ginny in silence, trying desperately to think of a topic of conversation to drown out Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger.  The twin he had thought was George put his arm around Angelina, and Neville asked, “How do you tell those two apart?”  


 

“I don’t know,” Ginny said, turning toward Neville and screwing up her face in concentration.  “Hmmm …I think it may have something to do with their personalities.  Fred is more outgoing, so his facial expression is generally slightly more open and friendly.  George’s expression is usually more guarded.  Can you see it?”  


 

Now that the twins were sitting with their girlfriends, Neville could easily tell them apart.  He studied their faces, but he thought Fred actually looked more guarded than George.  “Are you sure you don’t have it backwards, Ginny?” Neville asked, still staring at the twins.  


 

Ginny glanced over at them, and then rolled her eyes at Neville.  “No,” she said, “I’ve got it right, but they don’t.  They’re sitting with each other’s girlfriends.”  Neville smiled in triumph; he’d been right all along!  “They’re probably doing it for your benefit, and possibly the Grangers.  They think it’s funny to fool people into mixing them up.  You should go over there and call them by their correct names.”  


 

She gave him a mischievous smile, but before he could follow her advice, Ron staggered into the room, his face as pale as death.  Harry reached him first.  


 

“What is it, mate?  Is Hermione all right?”  


 

“They made me leave,” said Ron, an expression in his eyes that wasn’t quite sane.  “They said I was in the way.”  


 

“That’s ridiculous!” said Mrs. Weasley.  “Why, Arthur was there for …”  


 

“What else did they say, Ron?” said Mr. Weasley, interrupting his wife.  


 

Ron turned his eyes toward his father and seemed to struggle to focus on him.  “Something about distress – the baby – there were five of them in there, pointing their wands at her – she was screaming – oh god, they’re hurting her!”  Ron buried his face in his hands and sank to the floor.  



End file.
